


My Best Friend's Wedding

by starshine24mc



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-25
Updated: 2002-03-25
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starshine24mc/pseuds/starshine24mc
Summary: Part of a work in progress-be patient.  Thanks to all the great writers out there, and you know who you are, for inspiring me to greater flights of fancy.  Jackie, feel free to beta and get back to me.  Love ya, and hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy yours.





	My Best Friend's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

My Best Friend's Wedding

## My Best Friend's Wedding

#### by Goddess Michele

Title: My Best Friend's Wedding  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website: http://www.angelfire.com/oh4/homeofthegoddess/slash.html  
Date Archived: 03/25/02  
Category: Unclassified     
Pairing: Mulder/Skinner         
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: War of the Coprophages, maybe others.  
Permission to Archive: Put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Series or Sequel/Prequel:   
Notes:   
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised  
Summary: Part of a work in progress-be patient. Thanks to all the great writers out there, and you know who you are, for inspiring me to greater flights of fancy. Jackie, feel free to beta and get back to me. Love ya, and hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy yours.

* * *

part one  
I Say A Little Prayer 

* * *

"Damnit!" Assistant Director Walter Skinner swore loudly and slammed the receiver of his phone down on the cradle so hard the walnut desk he was sitting at actually shuddered from the force of the blow. 

"Damnit," he said again, softer, then picked the receiver back up. He swore the same oath once more, this time under his breath, then dialed a number from memory. He took a deep breath and heard her voice. 

"Scully." 

"Scully? It's Walter Skinner. I'm sorry to have to call you while you are on leave, but-" 

"What's he done, sir?" 

Skinner smiled grimly. Years of working with Fox Mulder, her troubled and troublesome partner, had made Dana Scully something of a psychic when it came to his actions. 

"Not sure, yet. Miller's Grove P.D. just called-they found Agent Mulder's car in a ditch just outside of town. There's no sign of Mulder. As you know, he took leave at the same time as you did, which was two days ago. Have you heard from him since then?" 

Skinner could hear the concern in her voice when she answered, and he wondered briefly if she could hear the matching worried tone in his own. 

"No, sir. Mulder's been to Miller's Grove before, though. He goes there to-" She paused a moment, then continued in a tone that suggested she was conferring a great secret upon him. "He goes there when he has to think about things." 

Skinner slipped off his glasses, closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling the telltale throb of a full-fledged headache on its way. 

"Sir? Are you still there?" 

"Scully, I'd like you to meet me at the-" he hesitated, feeling a conspicuous lump in his throat. "-At the scene,"-he'd almost said crime scene, and he knew she had heard the unspoken word. "I can be there in 40 minutes." 

"I'm on my way, sir." 

Skinner hung up the phone, and wondered what she knew. Dana Scully was Fox Mulder's best friend, his only friend, really, as far as Skinner knew, with the dubious exception of those three crazies he sometimes consulted on cases, and Skinner was aware of just how close they had become in working together for so many years. He knew that Mulder confided in his partner more than just professionally, and he also knew that she kept those confidences like a krieg padlock on a chain link fence. More than once, the government had seen just how stubborn Scully could be when it came to keeping a secret. She feared losing Mulder's trust more than she feared any actions against her for her silence. 

Now Skinner wondered if she was keeping silent against him. He, too, was a recipient of Fox Mulder's limited trust and affection, and the question in his mind was what Mulder had told his partner, what she may have surmised herself, being no slouch in the investigative department, and what he should be telling her in the event that they found something more amiss in Massachusetts than an abandoned car. 

No time to waste he thought, replacing the wire rims on his face, then rising from his desk, sweeping the notes he had jotted down while talking to the police into a file folder and carrying it over to the coat rack, where he quickly donned his holstered gun, and his suit jacket. He threw his overcoat over one arm, and strode purposefully out of the office, pausing only a moment to address his assistant, Kimberly Cooke. 

"Cancel everything today, Kim, I have to be out of town." 

"Yes sir." Kim was invaluable on many levels, but her greatest asset was never questioning the authority of her boss. 

Skinner was out of the building and into his car in less time than it takes to tell. He slipped into the driver's seat, threw coat and file into the back of the vehicle, and started the ignition. He was just about to pull out of the parking space when he happened to glance over at the passenger side and notice the styrofoam coffee cup, lid intact, sitting slightly askew on the leather upholstered seat. Eyes not quite focussing, he picked up the cup and opened the lid. 

It was full of empty sunflower seed shells. 

Skinner shut the car off and hunched forward in his seat, brow to steering wheel, feeling the fear he had been holding at bay come leaping forward like a great fanged mastiff, wild and threatening. He took a deep breath, then another, willing away the panic almost physically. The cup of shells crumpled as he balled his hands into fists, and he dropped it to the floor of the car... 

*-the car 

*What? 

*I said, I don't want to see one of those damn shells in this car. Here, use this. 

*God, Walter, you are so anal-retentive. 

*And you love it, you know you do. 

*That's anal-attentive, and you're right, I do love it. I love you... 

Skinner came back to himself after a moment, started the car up again, and, with jaw clenched grimly, pulled out of the car park. 

* * *

*...I can't see...Is it raining? There's something in my eyes...Christ that hurts...What the hell happened? I can't see...Where's the car, the car, something about the car...Walter said not to get seeds in the car-What the hell was that? Oh, god, my back-what was that? Why can't I see? The rain. The rain is in my eyes, I think. Okay, think-oh, god! What was it-just before I-I was thinking about Walter-I don't remember the rain-so warm-come on, Mulder, snap out of it-why is the rain warm? I can't move-I can't see. I have to get the rain out of my eyes-figure out where I am-where Walter is-I-oh, god, it's blood! Who's blood? Am I bleeding? I can't see...Walter...* 

* * *

part two  
Wishin' and Hopin' 

* * *

Grover's Mill   
8:24 p.m. 

Walter Skinner stepped out of his car and surveyed the scene before him, eyes dark, jaw tight, mouth a grim slash across a too pale face. 

There were two police cars, slant parked in front of the ditch to keep potential gawkers from disturbing the scene. Their lights were on, bathing the roadside in a garish purple glow as they waxed and waned. The sirens were mute, however, and Walter gave thanks for small favours. 

The drive here had been long and frustrating, and most of all frightening, thanks to an over-active imagination (and Fox claimed he didn't have one-Ha!), and the emotional nature of the situation. A million different scenarios vied for space in his mind, most of them ending in bloody corpses, and now his head was throbbing like a rotted tooth, despite dry-swallowing several aspirin, which he had found in the glove box. 

Walter was relieved to see Dana Scully approaching him. It was a sneaky sort of relief, the kind that always followed the old adage "misery loves company". Regardless, he felt the vice grip headache ease up a little as he stepped forward to meet her. 

"Well?" he realized he was being abrupt, but couldn't help himself. It was just his nature, and he was too damn old to change now. 

"I've just gotten here, myself, sir. The police seem to have the scene confined. We'll have to get permission to examine the vehicle." The words were clipped and professional, but Walter could hear the strain in Scully's voice, and he suspected her drive was as stressful as his own was. He noticed then that she was wearing tights and a large gray t-shirt-not her usual business-like attire, and he remembered that he had pulled her off leave. 

"Scully, I-" he stopped there, unsure of what he wanted to say. His eyes were drawn back to the t-shirt, hanging loosely over her frame, nearly down to her knees, making her look even more diminutive. He suddenly felt big and clumsy next to her as he reached out to touch her shoulder. His large hand gripped her for only a moment before she plucked it off her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. 

"Let's go, sir. We won't know anything until we see what's happened." As she spoke, she lifted the shirt to her waist to reveal her gun, holstered in a clip on her hip, and a small leather pouch, clipped on the other side, from which she retrieved her FBI identification card and badge. 

He nodded a mute assent, then followed her as she strode back to the waiting police cars, finding it a task to keep up with her, even with his longer-legged steps. He could see the tension in her neck and back below her short red hair, despite the large cut of the shirt, and he wondered why he couldn't shake his focus back to the situation. Then he noticed the shoulder he had touched so briefly, and he stopped in his tracks, calling her name. 

Scully turned, confused, to see Walter staring at her, frozen in place. She walked back to her supervisor and looked up into his eyes. 

"What is it, sir?" 

Walter reached out for her, again touching her shoulder, covering the rip in the seam between the sleeve and the neck. 

"Where did you get this shirt?" his voice was scarcely above a whisper, so unlike his usual biting tone that Scully's eyes widened and she took a step back, blue eyes widening, not in fear, but rather in something akin to surprise. 

"I-uh-Mulder, sir- our last assignment- we went to Charleston, half my luggage went to Alaska. I needed something to-" 

Walter cut her off in mid-ramble. 

"It's mine." 

Scully knew she should have been more surprised, more hurt, more shocked. Instead, her first thought was rather a silly one: I guess that explains why Mulder's shirt is not only too big for me, but too big for him, too. Somehow she knew that Skinner had not just lent his shirt to Mulder during one of their infrequent games of one on one in the Bureau gym. Those two words had said more than that. They spoke of a possession that went beyond the clothes, to the man himself. It explained why Skinner was so concerned about this matter that he had called her back from her vacation, why he had come out here himself. It also explained all the looks, the calls, the lack of videos in the office lately-it explained everything, except why Mulder hadn't told her. 

She took a deep breath, looked away from the assistant director, then looked back into his eyes, seeing for what felt like the first time how dark they were. Not intense, like Mulder's hazel ones, but deep; burnt chocolate, bittersweet... 

"I'll make sure that Mulder gets it back to you. He didn't tell me." Scully wasn't just talking about the shirt. 

"I know. " Neither was Skinner. "He had his reasons, Scully. We both did." 

"I'm going to want to discuss this with you later, sir-" She risked a small smile, "both of you." Then she turned and continued towards the police barricade. 

Walter exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. He knew that Fox had been concerned about his partner's reaction to their relationship, but he didn't realize the depths of his own concerns until Scully had so easily allayed them. He followed behind her again, trying to get a better grip on the fabric of his reality, which, as darkness approached, seemed to be tenuous at best. He felt himself moving, but from a distance, almost as though he was watching from outside himself. It didn't bode well, as he recalled past out of body experiences. But the feeling persisted, and he smiled grimly, thinking Fox would love this... 

*love this... 

*Fox, I don't think this is my sort of thing... 

*You're going to have to trust me on this one, Walter... 

*Trust me, he says! Isn't there a pot/kettle metaphor somewhere here? 

*Shut up! Now pass me the remote... 

*Playing By Heart? I've never even heard of it, Fox- 

*It's got Sean Connery in it, Walter, you love Sean Connery. Make a little room here- 

*Do I look like a pillow? 

*Hey, that tickles! Stop it! 

*Okay, okay, let's see this treasure you've brought back from Mount Blockbuster... 

*Open mind, Walter... 

*Only for you... 

Walter shook off the memory and approached the two policemen who were looking at Scully's I.D. and pointing out the car, tumbled halfway down the shallow ditch. He presented his own badge, then followed Scully to the site, stepping over the police tape. He inhaled sharply, not quite a gasp, at his first good look at Mulder's car. 

Scully was already crouched by the open driver's side door. 

Large dents were visible on the back door and the bumper, and the trunk was crimped in. It looked like the car had been knocked around by a tank, or - 

"-a truck." 

Walter didn't realize Scully was talking. 

"What?" 

"It looks like the damage was done by a large truck or van, sir. The dents are up higher than another car would allow, and deeper, suggesting a larger vehicle." She turned to the two officers. "Was the door open when you found it?" 

"Yes, ma'am" replied the younger of the two. 

She looked over at Walter and they shared a silent moment of hope. If the door was open, perhaps Mulder had walked away from the accident. 

Inspecting the inside of the car, Scully felt that hope fade. She didn't realize she had said anything aloud, but at her murmured "Oh, god," Walter pushed forward to crouch beside her. 

The steering wheel, dashboard and driver's seat were splashed with blood. The passenger seat was spattered lightly as well, and Walter felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw that Mulder's gun, I.D. and jacket were lying in a heap there. 

"So much blood..." he whispered. He had seen so many crime scenes in his career, so much more blood than this, but he'd never felt the sick horror now curdling in his stomach. He'd never been so close to a case, not even with Sharon, not even when he had been the prime suspect. 

"The large amount of blood seems indicative of a scalp wound, which would be consistent with crashing the car into the ditch." Scully had regrouped and become all business. Walter knew she was hiding her own fears in forensic terminology, and he briefly admired her for it. He understood how Fox could love her as he did. He just nodded encouragingly, and received a quick hand squeeze for his efforts. 

"We should get the car to impound," he said. "We can have a team go over it and see if we can't find out who did this. There should be paint evidence, maybe tire tracks or even prints, if the perp decided to see if the job got done." Walter realized that he sounded as detached as Scully had, and was surprised at himself. He wondered if Scully felt the same. 

"We can find out if the police have started their search of the area, maybe assist them somehow, while the car is being checked," Scully suggested. Walter nodded, then called the two policemen who had given them access to the car over to him. He stood up and gave them his best in-charge look. He didn't know if it worked; he definitely didn't feel in charge...of anything. But the police listened as he explained what they had found and what they wanted. 

The car had only just been found, and when the license had been traced back to Mulder, the call had been put into the office. No one had touched anything, nor had any search been initiated. Walter gave the police orders to begin a search of the surrounding area immediately; he didn't care how many men had to work overtime on this. Then he explained that he needed to have the car towed to Quantico, where experts could begin to piece together the events based on physical evidence. 

"Special Agent Scully and I will start the search while you are calling in more men. No one except officers from your department are to enter this area. Is that perfectly clear?" 

The two men hastened away to begin acting on his orders. Only then did Walter let his worry show as his posture sagged for a moment. 

"Sir?" He felt Scully tug at his sleeve. 

"I'm fine, Scully. Just worried." 

"I am too, sir." 

* * *

*...I-I-Where am I? Oh, think I- I remember being in the car...with Walter? No...Where the hell is the car? Did someone hit me? It's so hot-why is it so hot? I can't see-oh, my eyes-I was trying to-I knew who he was...in the truck...what truck? It's hard to think...okay so, car forced off the road...I think I've got that. I think that's what-oh, my head hurts...Where am I? It's dark, it's hot-I think-I think my eyes are swollen shut. Did I hit my head? What about the blood? Was there blood. Oh, god Mulder, think...I've got to try to-OW! Shit! Now I can see, but my nose is bleeding-nice trade-off...It's still dark...How long have I been here? I'm outside...somewhere...I'm-Walter is always saying I need to get more fresh air-I was thinking about Walter when...I should get up-I want to get up-oh, I can't get up. I'm so hot... What was that?   
Shit   
Where's my gun?   
Oh, shit   
I can't see-can't tell who-   
Oh my god   
Sam? Samantha? Is that you? Samantha!* 

* * *

part three  
You Don't Know Me 

* * *

Grover's Mill   
10:13 P.M. 

Walter Skinner slammed his fist against the side of his car, and only managed to hurt his hand. He felt frustrated, angry, desperately afraid, so many things, not all of them easily categorized, and he hit the car again. 

Around him he could hear the sounds of men and women calling out to one another, verifying locations and information as the search for Fox Mulder continued. He had come back to the original scene of the accident once more police had arrived, knowing that in the current mental state he was in, he would be more hindrance than help, and he thought he would do more good being there when the truck came from Quantico to pick up Mulder's car. 

Scully had continued to search with the officers, and he could hear her voice clearly above the others, calling out her location. 

Nearly two hours, Walter thought, glancing at his watch, two hours, and not a goddamned thing. It's like the damn forest has just swallowed him up. Closing his eyes did nothing to remove the mental picture he had of his lover wandering aimlessly through dark foliage, bloody and dazed. 

Scully's voice again, louder this time. He thought she must have been doubling back over her tracks. This was verified a few minutes later as she came out of the thick underbrush, pushing her hair out of her eyes and muttering to herself. Then she barked something into the radio she held in one hand, turned it off, and approached him. 

"Nothing yet, sir," she said in reply to the question in his eyes. "But if he's out there, we've got enough men now to cover every inch of this place." 

Walter nodded at this even as he wanted to voice a protest, to say that he'd be the one to find Mulder. To say that he should be out there, beating the bushes and- 

Scully's hand on his arm snapped him out of his reverie, and he suddenly felt very tired. 

"The sheriff says there's a coffee shop less than five miles up the road. We can take the radio with us." When Walter didn't answer, she continued: "I don't know about you, sir, but if I don't get a cup of coffee soon, I'm going to start taking hostages." 

This line earned her a small grin. 

"Coffee is a federal and state requirement for situations like this, " he replied. "But I think we should wait until the truck-" 

As if on cue, the tow truck that had been dispatched to retrieve Mulder's car pulled into what was rapidly becoming a law official parking lot. 

The two of them watched it weave between police cars and around policemen until it was situated behind Mulder's car. 

Walter turned to Scully and said. "Why don't I make sure everything is arranged for the vehicle, while you check in with the sheriff and tell him where we'll be. I'll meet you back here at the car." 

"On it, sir." She started to walk away, stopped a moment, took another step, then stopped again and turned to face him. 

"We will find him, sir." 

"I know." 

"That's good." Then she was striding away from him and towards the makeshift command center the police had set up next to Mulder's car. 

Walter stretched, winced as tired muscles in his back protested, then followed Scully to the tow truck. He recognized the driver as one of the tireless, nameless men and women who did so much of the low-level grunt work for the bureau, helping to make the agents and directors look as good as they did. 

He explained to the man exactly what was needed for this particular vehicle, then left him to his job and started back to his own car. He spared a moment to glance over to where Scully was handling the locals in a way that even he was envious of, and he thought that coffee with her was going to be interesting at best, and incredibly uncomfortable at worst. He wondered now why he and Fox had never told her. It had seemed for the best at the time, but now, when the last thing he wanted to do was discuss his unusual albeit wonderful love life with anyone, let alone his lover's best friend... 

*...best friend... 

*What? 

*I said, she's your best friend, Fox. She deserves to know. 

*Walter, I don't know. 

*What is it? Is it because it's me? 

*Hey, none of that, now. Only one insecure jerk in this bed at a time. I love you, Walter, and I'm proud to be with you. It's just... 

*Tell me. 

*Well, she's Catholic, for starters. 

*So, this should be nothing new for her then. 

*Funny. Traditionally, religion has cast a less than favorable glance at what we're doing here, you know. In Salem, during the witch trials, gay men were often used as firewood when witches were burned at the stake. 

*We're not in Salem, and even if we were, it was also widely held that women with red hair were enchanted by the devil, so I guess we all would have gone up in smoke together. 

*When did my bedroom become Comedy Central? Wait _L_ , don't answer that! You know what I mean, Walter. 

*I know what you're saying, anyway. Now what's the real reason. 

*I love Scully a lot, and I respect her so much, and... 

*And? 

*... 

*Fox, I don't think anything could change the way Scully feels about you. If aliens, mutants and vampires haven't done it, then I think she can handle anything. 

"Sir?" 

He realized he was standing outside the car, keys in hand, lost in thought, and Scully was gazing at him worriedly. 

"Sorry, Scully. Woolgathering." 

"I think that's understandable. They're going to call if they find anything. Let's go." 

Walter opened the car door for her, then walked over to his side, sparing one last glance at the tow truck pulling Mulder's car away. 

* * *

*...What the hell is going on? Where am I? I thought I saw Samantha! Was it...was it them? Okay, Mulder, take a deep breath here and figure out what's happening. I'm not outside anymore. I think I'm in a house...an apartment...no, feels bigger than that. Okay, let's try the opening eyes thing again. It's dark. I think it's still night...I think I'm in...in a bedroom. I'm definitely on a bed. Short bed, not like Walter's...Walter! Oh my god, I was supposed to tell him...Christ, what a mess. I think the man in the truck was the same man in the ambulance that time that...Scully! Thank god she's on leave-she'd think I was ditching her again, when I promised- Someone's coming! Gotta get up...Shit, I think I'm-no, I know it-I'm tied up. Like I haven't been in restraints enough in my life. Dammit! Oh, god, what the hell is going on? Who's there? It's a little girl.   
What's she doing? She's got a candle, and I can just make out her face-it's not Sam-not that I really thought it was, I just-now what? She's put a finger to her mouth. Quiet? Why? She looks scared. Now what's this? What? Drink? I don't know what that is-wait-wait-too fast I'm choking-what's she so scared of, looking all over the place like that. It's water. Okay, water is good. Hey, wait! Where's she going? Wait! Come back! Heavy sound outside the door now. Don't know who tied me here, but they're good-I can't move. More noises. What was that? Oh, god, is that crying? Is it the girl? What the hell is going on...?* 

* * *

part four  
Tell Him 

* * *

Grover's Mill   
11:21 p.m. 

Scully offered the cream pitcher, and Walter waved it away absently, sipping at his black coffee and burning his mouth. 

They were the only two patrons of the tiny cafe. The sign out front of the "Dew Drop Inn" proclaimed that they were open twenty-four hours, but it was painfully apparent that no one else was. The only waitress in the place had seated them, slopped coffee into cups, slapped menus onto table, then retreated quickly behind the counter, lit a cigarette and glared at them balefully, almost daring them to ask more of her than that. 

Scully tipped cream into her coffee, stirred thoughtfully for a moment, then said, 

"How long, sir?" 

Walter didn't reply right away, and when he did, his answer caught her off-guard. 

"Do you remember the Bowman case?" 

Scully flashed briefly on the second pusher who had almost forced Mulder to shoot her. She nodded and Walter continued, obviously weighing his words carefully. 

"He was right about all of it, from start to finish, and he was still beating himself up over it." 

"Mulder's always been one to borrow guilt," Scully agreed. "I think his parents taught him that." 

"I've seen it from him so many times," said Walter, "but-but this time I couldn't let it go. I just wanted him to know that he'd done a good job-I mean really know it." 

"You must have been very persuasive." 

Walter scrutinized her carefully, but could find no sarcasm, just a hint of friendly tease. 

"What did you do?" she pressed. 

"I didn't know he didn't drink. There was nothing in his jacket about it-" 

"Oh, no." 

"I guess it was a point of pride to match me drink for drink. Arrogant bastard." But he was smiling warmly when he said it, and Scully matched him, even as she said again, 

"Oh, no." 

"He threw up on my shoes. Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but-" 

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed laughing. "The Bush Nunns!" She remembered now noticing the new shoes, and commenting to Mulder about them. Well, at least this explained the blush and uncomfortable silence. 

"I had to throw them away!" He was laughing too, surprising Scully, who had thought her superior incapable of mirth of any sort. His laugh was deep, full and infectious, although Scully suspected that worry was as much to blame for their near-hysterics at the vision of Fox Mulder doing a technicolour yawn all over his boss's shoes. 

"Then what?" she asked, as their laughter tapered off. 

"He passed out on my couch, and I left him there. I had no desire for a repeat performance all over my car's interior, and I didn't have the heart to just dump him into a cab." 

"Considerate," Scully said. Then her eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Then what?" 

"Then," Walter replied stiffly, "I went to bed." 

"Alone?" 

"Yes, alone." Suddenly defensive. 

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean-" 

"That's alright, Scully. You're a good friend to him." 

They shared a silent moment of concern for the man they both loved in their own way. 

"I woke up a couple of hours later," Walter continued. 

Realization dawned on Scully's face. 

"He had a nightmare, didn't he?" she exclaimed. 

"I-yes-how did you-does it happen often?" Walter had signed enough of their 302s that he probably knew as much about their sleeping habits as they did themselves. 

"Not so much anymore. Guess I know why. Now." 

"I don't know if he was still drunk, but he was crying and yelling and-" 

"Oh, I know, sir." 

"I thought I'd just shake him, you know, wake him up-" 

Scully was smiling again. 

"Did he hit you?" She had her own memories of waking her partner when he was in the throes of his nightmares. 

"He's hit me harder before, but I wasn't going to give him a chance to do it again. I told him to quit it..." 

*...just quit it, Mulder! Wake up, damnit! 

*Scully? Scully!! 

*Mulder, it's me, Skinner. Walter Skinner- 

*No! Oh, God, Scully! No-no-no-no- 

*Mulder, wake up! 

*Scully?...Oh, God, NO!! 

*Mulder? That's better. Are you with me here? 

*Oh, god, sir-I-I-oh, shit... 

*Hey, Mulder. Hey-it's all right...shhh...there, there, you're all right, shhh... 

*Sir, I'm sorry, I-I- 

*Shhh...You're fine, Mulder. It was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep now- 

*No! Sir...sir-p-please...stay? 

*All right...shhh...I will. I am. It's all right...it's okay. I'm right here. I've got you... 

*Sir...? 

"Sir?" Scully's voice dragged him reluctantly back to the situation at hand. 

"So I stayed up all night, got a crick in my neck from the damned couch, and that was it." 

"So what are you suggesting sir? That based on projectile vomiting and prolonged night terrors, you and he were able to start a relationship?" 

"Thank you, Scully, you make it sound so romantic." 

"Somehow, sir, I just never had you pegged as the romantic type. And I've seen Mulder's idea of romance." She was smiling again, and Walter felt an absurd urge to reach out for her hands and just hold them, as if, for a moment, he could be closer to Mulder by being closer to his best friend. 

He reached for his coffee instead, which had cooled considerably. He glanced over at their waitress, looking for assistance, sympathy, a refill... 

The radio, which had sat mute between them all this time, suddenly came to life with a burst of static and a man's voice. 

"Agent Scully? A.D. Skinner? This is Detective Josan, are you there?" 

* * *

*...big problem here. It seems lighter in here, somehow, but with all the drapes so dark and musty, I can't see as well as I'd like to. Or maybe I wouldn't-main thing is the heat. It's not that hot in here, I don't think...I think it's me...Great...never mind being run off the road, nearly beheaded by the windshield, lost, apparently kidnapped and trussed up like a Christmas goose-now I've got the goddamned flu! Shit! Wonder what happened to that little girl...didn't sound good, whatever it was- What was that?   
someone coming?   
Light's too bright-can't see-okay, hurts, but better- Holy shit, lady, you ever heard of the ab-roller? What's she got there? a needle...A needle? god, If she's a nurse, I'm Marilyn Monroe! -can't move-damned straps- You're going to what? No way, lady, you're insane! No! ...room spinning...what the hell did she...got to try... next time I won't think about it, Walter, I'll just say...* 

* * *

part five  
I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself 

* * *

Grover's Mill   
midnight 

Skinner had a moment of concern for Scully. The car had barely come to a stop and she was already leaping out the door. A moment was all the time he could spare her, though, as he shut off the car's engine and rushed after her. 

Detective Josan was standing on the side of the road, some distance from where they had found Mulder's car, and as soon as the two of them reached him, he first pointed, then led them into the thick woods to the side of the car. 

"We just found it," he tossed over his shoulder at them. "Whether it's your Agent Mulder or not, we can't be sure--" 

"Oh, god..." Skinner murmured. Scully reached back without looking and clasped his hand, and Detective Josan hastened to allay their fears, or multiply them, depending on how they looked at it. 

"No body, if that's what you're thinkin', but...well, here we are." With that cryptic pronouncement, he stepped forward with a last shove at some errant branches. Skinner could just make out the disturbing swath of yellow police tape marking off a section of the woods. Two more officers were standing nearby talking quietly, one in traditional blues, the other in khakis and a field jacket. 

The second officer moved forward at their approach, intercepting them slickly as they came near the cordoned off area. He stuck out a hand, and said: 

"Jackson McCormick--Forestry." He smiled tightly and gave Skinner a politicians double-pump handshake, then turned to Scully and did the same, but added a little leer and "Or just Jackson, if you like." 

He kept his focus on Scully as he continued; "The local boys always call me out whenever someone wanders off the beaten path. Guess they figure I'm the expert--who am I to disabuse them?" 

"That's nice," Scully, murmured, clearly meaning, "Who gives a fuck?" 

"What have you found?" Skinner demanded impatiently, stepping towards the barrier. 

"Whoa, big guy!" McCormick held out a hand, placing himself between Skinner and the area before the tape could be breached. Skinner glowered dangerously and silently demanded more information. 

"We've got something here, definitely. Might be your boy, then again, might not. But if you go tramplin' in there like some Pamplona bull, we're gonna have a whole lot of nothing." 

"Sir," Scully's voice was quiet tonic to his frayed nerves, and he backed away from the terrible urge to pull the ranger's lungs out through his nose. With a last dark glance at the man, and a grateful nod to Scully, he drew back, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. 

Scully gave McCormick her best dry clinical look, and he lifted the police tape for her, watched as she carefully slipped past him, then turned a look on Skinner as if to say, 'see, that's how it's done.' 

Skinner ignored him in favor of studying the tips of his shoes. 

"Sir!" Same word, but not soothing at all as he was addressed in a harsh whisper that hissed through the brush like a snake. "Could you come over here?" 

His throat was suddenly blocking the passage of air to his lungs, and Skinner stepped forward on legs made of blocks of wood. He didn't notice Josan lifting the tape for him, or McCormick glaring balefully at him, like a cantankerous housewife with a freshly waxed floor. He could only fixate on Scully's slim back, seeing her down on one knee in front of a flat space on the forest floor. The weeds, saplings and wild grasses were crushed in a rough oval, and Scully knelt in the center of it. Skinner tried to focus on the scene, to look at it through the eyes that had brought him commendations in the field and finally earned him that fourth floor office, but at the first site of blood, which he noted was splashed and dripped on much of the plant life, something sick with worry dragged his gaze back to Scully and held it there. 

As he hunkered down next to her and stilled the trembling that suddenly wanted to turn his large body's smooth movements into something like a seizure, he noticed that she was holding something in one small latex-gloved hand. 

"Wha--?" The word stuck. He cleared his throat, swallowed his heart and tried again. "What is it?" 

"Sir?" she was giving him a frown that was more confusion than tears, though not by much, and holding out an evidence glove. He took it as if from a distance and pulled it on, winced at the snap it made and thought he might throw up when she gingerly placed the small blue box in his protected hand. 

"Aw, fuck..." Barely audible. A small drop of blood on the top of the box, a second larger smear on the side. But he didn't have to open the box to know it was Mulder's blood, didn't have to reveal the contents to the world when his heart already knew what was in there. He'd bought the ring himself, after all. The simple gold ring; the plain gold band with the engraved inner wall, so reminiscent of his own first wedding ring. 

He remembered the salesgirl asking him if he wanted his gift boxed, and nodding without much thought, his mind still on the engraving. He had wondered what Mulder was going to think when he saw the words etched into that band. 

Even now, at this terrible moment, he thought of those words, and wondered if they had been enough, or too much. He wondered if Mulder had understood what lay in those two simple words: Love, Forever... 

*Forever, Walter? Are you drunk? 

*Not likely. Are you? 

*Not any more. Christ, Walter, this is a hell of a thing to spring on a guy. 

*I didn't come by this decision lightly, Mulder. I hope you know that. 

*Have you ever noticed that there are no plants in my apartment? 

*Excuse me? 

*None, zip, nada. Not a spider plant, no wandering Jews, no African violets. Not even a Boston fern 

*And...? 

*Oh, not for lack of trying. Scully's a great one for bringing over some plant or another--says it's good for the air, or some damn thing. It's like lambs to the slaughter. I can't tell you the number of green leafy things I've managed to kill over the years. 

*Your point? 

*Walter, listen to what I'm saying. If I can't sustain a viable long-term relationship with a houseplant, then what chance do we have? 

*I'm willing to take that chance, Mulder. But if you're not--if you're not ready for this, then just say so. 

*That's not what I'm saying, Walter. I'm just--I mean-- 

*What? 

*Walter... 

*Fox, tell me-- 

*Walter, what if I can't keep you alive? 

"--alive." 

"What?" Skinner turned on the ranger with a growl, one that Scully immediately recognized for the naked anguish that it was. She realized that all the men were staring at her superior, and the situation had to be nipped in the bud, before the wrong conclusions could be drawn, before there was any more danger to Mulder, or to anyone. She jumped to her feet and interposed herself between the two large men, facing her boss. 

"He's right, sir. This is a good indication that Mulder is still alive. And we will find him." She squeezed his arm briefly, then turned on McCormick and the other cop. 

"Let's get some more men in here, double time," she snapped. "We've got a place to start here, but the trail's going to go cold if we don't get on it right now." The men were still staring at Skinner, who was staring down at the blood spattered jewelry box and muttering something to himself. 

"Am I talking to myself here?" Scully demanded. 

A mumbled apology from the one cop greeted her words, along with some darker muttering from McCormick, and then they faded back into the woods, leaving Josan to bring Skinner and Scully out. 

"Um, Agent, sir, I don't know if you saw this, but there appears to be drag marks here. Looks like whoever stopped here was pulled this way." Josan pointed to two deep furrows in the ground leading away from the space. Scully noted them with a nod, but Skinner was still focused on the item in his hand. 

"Do you have an evidence bag, Agent Scully," Skinner's voice was thick with grief, and Scully pressed her hand to his arm again. 

"I think your pocket will do, sir," she replied quietly. He gave her a startled look, then shot a glance over at Detective Josan, who had suddenly discovered the answer to life the universe and everything in the sky overhead, and was carefully not looking at them. 

"This is evidence, Agent," Skinner said. 

Josan began to whistle. 

"Yes, sir, it is evidence. But not of any crime." Scully tried on a careful understanding smile, and Skinner admired it, admired her, with a small worn grin of his own. He gently placed the jewelry box into the pocket of his coat, looked down at the tracks in the dirt, and then addressed Josan. 

"What's out there?" he asked, pointing in the direction the marks had made. 

"More forest. Used to be a lake at one point, but it's dried up now. Some abandoned cabins. Basically a whole lotta nothin'." 

"Let's get some men to concentrate on the area west of here," Scully said. When no one moved, she added "Daylight's wasting, sirs; let's go." She started to push her way out of the brush when Skinner called her name. She stopped, turned. 

"Dana, thank you," he said simply. 

"Now you both owe me," she teased, and he followed her out of the woods. 

* * *

*Now what the hell is going on here? How long have I been out of it? I don't remember. I feel like hell. The last thing I saw was...was--oh, god, what did she do to me? I ache, oh man this is bad. I still can't move. Got me trussed up here like a goddamned Christmas goose...God, it hurts! I think she rammed bamboo splints up my--why would she--okay, come on, here, Mulder, think. Don't panic; just try to figure out---unh! Well, that didn't work. Just made my balls ache. I wonder if the heat is a byproduct of the atmosphere or...am I delusional? I mean more delusional than usual. Am I sick? I asked Scully that once. That was right around the time that Walter thought I was nuts too. Now I think...dammit, can't think...hurts to think... Ah! The light--too damned bright! I can't see--who's there? Please, what are you doing to me? No, please, don't! What do you want from me? Please, oh please, just stop! I can't-I need-I do--* 

* * *

part six  
I'll Be Okay 

* * *

"Are you kidding?" Scully exclaimed. 

McCormick gave her an indulgent smile. 

"As you can see, Agent Scully, I have plenty of men to take care of this. Now I suggest you and the Assistant Director head on back to Washington." He glanced pointedly at Skinner. "We'll be sure to call if we turn up any trace of your boy." 

"I don't think you quite understand the situation here," Skinner growled as he stepped forward. This time Scully didn't stop him. Something about the way McCormick was looking at her, with that 'don't-get-your-panties-in-a-knot-little-lady' smirk made her want to simultaneously pull her gun and run a security check on the guy. 

"Sir, as I was saying to Miss Scully here-" 

Skinner moved in kissing close. 

"You listen to me, Ranger Jack. One of my agents is lost out here, likely injured as a result of foul play, and while I understand that you and the rest of the cub scouts here have jurisdiction over this case, these woods, you have to understand that hell will freeze over before either myself or Agent Scully will abandon this case!" Skinner gave McCormick a shove. Not a big one; the man barely stumbled; but enough of a chest-to-chest push that he made both his anger and his dominance perfectly clear. 

"All right!" McCormick held up a supplicating hand. "Jesus! You don't need to go all Alpha male on me-Christ!" 

Now Scully did move closer. 

"Come on, sir," she said in a neutral tone even as her eyes were tossing daggers into McCormick. "Let's see what Josan's got for us on that area west of here." She resisted the urge to take Skinner's hand, suspecting that McCormick would have a field day with something like that, no matter how innocent the actual circumstances. 

Scully and Skinner walked away from the ranger's SUV, and as soon as they were out of earshot, McCormick reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt. He flipped it open, thumbed the first speed dial key, and tapped his foot impatiently at the computer voice that told him to leave a message. 

"It's McCormick. The Fibbies aren't giving an inch on this one-I think the old guy's queer for Mulder or something. Anyway, you might have to move the lab in a big hurry if they get too close. Some eager beaver in this unit's tipped 'em west, but I can probably get 'em lost out there easy enough. I'll keep you posted." 

McCormick clipped the phone back onto his belt, then whirled, gun already in hand, as he heard something behind him. Detective Josan raised his hands and backed away from him, saying "Hey, relax, it's just me." 

McCormick sighed gustily and re-holstered his gun. "Shit, you scared the crap outta me!" 

Josan grinned. "Hey, you're supposed to be the big brave ranger around here," he said. "I should be the one pulling my gun every time a twig snaps." 

"By the time it's dark, you'll probably be doing just that," McCormick replied grimly. 

"By the time it gets dark, I expect to be home and getting me some." Still smiling, Josan turned to walk away, adding, "The Feds are hot on this thing, and we've got a pretty clean trail to follow. I'm sure we'll find something soon." He paused, looked around. "Where'd those two get to, anyway? I'm supposed to be taking them out to quadrant C-those cabins west of here." 

"Oh." McCormick glanced off in the direction that Skinner and Scully had gone, then waved his hand in the opposite direction. "They're on a tear, that's for sure. They might even beat you out there." 

"Thanks. I'll keep the radio clear in case you guys find anything else." With that, Josan crashed back into the bushes. McCormick took a moment to check the load in his pistol, then followed after the young officer with a grim frown on his face. 

* * *

"Scully, it's getting dark. We should wait for Detective Josan." Skinner took hold of her slender arm, and was surprised at the vehemence with which it was wrenched from his grip. 

"Sir, with all due respect, you saw the trail. The blood. Can you honestly tell me that you don't want to get out there and find him?" Her eyes were wide and shiny, and Skinner knew he wasn't alone in his feelings for Mulder. 

"I think you know the answer to that one, Dana. But we can't just hare off into the woods, not knowing what or who may be out there. We won't be helping Mulder if we wind up stumbling around lost out there with him." When she still didn't seem convinced, he added, "Use your head." 

She looked ready to argue for a moment, and then smiled sadly. "It'll save my ass, right?" 

He returned the unhappy look. "Yeah." 

"Well, sir, I say we give him five minutes, and then, I don't know about you, but I'm willing to put my ass on the line." 

"Absolutely." As he spoke, his hand slipped into his pocket and squeezed the jewelry box there like a worry stone. "Five minutes..." 

*Five minutes, Fox. Get your ass in gear! 

*All right. I'm coming. Jeez, don't give yourself a stroke, big guy! 

*We almost didn't get seats tonight, and if we're late... 

*I know, I know...Relax, there's plenty of time. 

*God, Mulder, you look- 

*Like a penguin, I know. Help me with the tie, would you? 

*Seriously, Mulder, this is a good look for you-chin up-who knew you'd clean up so well? 

*Ha ha, you're funny. Not so tight! I gotta say, Walter, basic black is working for you big time. 

*I feel like an extra in the Sopranos-not that type of feel! Quit it! 

*Come on, Walter, let's just skip the show and go to bed. 

*As tempting an offer as that is... 

*But you have to keep the tie on 

*We're leaving now... 

*Aw, just when things were starting to get interesting. Well, all right then. Come on Tony; let's make someone an offer they can't refuse. 

"Shut up, Mulder... 

"-Mulder?" 

"What?" Skinner only realized he had barked when Scully recoiled. "Sorry." 

"I said what do you think is going on here, and how would it involve Mulder?" 

"You and he are the experts here, Scully. I'm just trying to keep up." 

A crackling of leaves and twigs alerted them to the arrival of another person in the clearing in which they were waiting. 

* * *

*...okay, I can do this. Just gotta stay focused. I can't let the pain in...have to get these ties loose somehow. Can't take another...oh, hell, I think I just made it tighter...damnit! I didn't have this much trouble that time Walter and I...ow! Shit-no thinking like that! God, I can barely feel my arms anymore. Not that they could compete with the pain in my...Jeez, what if they've done something permanent...Walter's gonna kick their asses if they've fucked up my plumbing...Damnit, this isn't working at all! Now what the hell was that? Is it the kid again? Maybe I can convince her to...what the hell? Since when is the global conspiracy run by fucking boy scouts? Hey, what are you--oh, shit, is that guy dead? I can hear her again--that little girl--crying, crying like Sam...is she--wait--I remember, that place in Canada...what is this place? What the fuck do you want from me? Oh, no, don't--* 

* * *

part seven  
The Way You Look Tonight 

* * *

Skinner turned at the sound of someone lumbering through the brush towards him and Scully, and grinned, relieved, when he saw it was Detective Josan. 

"Detective! We've been waiting for you--let's go--Detective Josan?" He saw the blood first, and then Josan was falling forward, catching Scully's sleeve and nearly pulling her down on top of him. His grip left a bloody smear down her arm. 

"What the hell?" Walter stepped up quickly and caught the young man just before he hit the ground. He lowered him gently down, and pulled away a hand wet with blood. 

Scully was on her knees in a flash, immediately checking the man for injuries. It was bad, and she didn't need to see the bloody froth bubbling on his lips to know it. The two gaping wounds in his chest were spurting blood with every raspy breath, and she clamped both small hands over them. 

"Muh--muh--muh--" 

"Don't try to talk," Scully commanded in a harsh whisper. She risked pulling her hands away for a moment to tear open his shirt. More blood spattered her, but she ignored it. Skinner leaned in close as Josan muttered more nonsensical syllables, then recoiled from the fine spray of blood that came up from under Scully's hands. Not quick enough, however, as it misted his glasses, and he yanked them off as if they were hot. 

"What the hell is this?!" Skinner exclaimed, even as he dropped his glasses and reached for his cell phone. Before he could dial 911, though, he felt a weak yet insistent pull at his trouser cuff, one which threatened to upset his balance, and he looked back down at Josan. 

Scully was trying to perform some half-assed CPR on the man, but even to Skinner's untrained eye, she was fighting a losing battle. Yet, somehow, Josan's eyes were open, and fixed intently on Skinner. Then the dying man looked down, and Skinner followed his gaze to the rumpled, bloodstained paper that he was pressing on him. He made one more small noise, then fell back, limp and unconscious. 

"Dammit! Hang on, Josan!" Scully pounded more furiously on the man's chest. 

Skinner took the paper from Josan's lax, outstretched hand; it was a map. As he uncrumpled it, he discovered several small buildings had black 'X' marks on them, and a spot just to the east of them was circled in red. 

"Scully--" 

Scully was still encouraging the unconscious man, muttering under her breath even as she counted off the seconds between heartbeats. "Come on, come on, breathe, dammit..." 

"Scully, we have to go." 

She looked up at him in shock. 

"What? For God's sake, sir, we can't just leave. Call the paramedics--get someone out here--he's not -we can't--" 

"We can, and we will." Skinner knelt down beside her, gave the detective a stricken look, and then his features hardened, and he said to Scully: "Look at this. Do you think this is a coincidence? It must have something to do with Mulder." He stabbed the numbers on his cell phone viciously, muttering to himself, "unless they're arming the bears nowadays..." 

Scully saw that the blood was flowing from Josan's wounds much more sluggishly, and she realized that it was a good bet no amount of help was going to be enough, or be in time to save the young man. She recognized the empathetic ache in her heart that she always felt in the face of senseless death, but then her thoughts turned to Mulder. The same fate could be her partner's, she realized, and she turned her attention from the man whom she could not help, to the man that she could. 

"Yes, Double time!" Skinner was barking into the phone like the marine he once was, and Scully was grateful for his strength, even if it was just for show in light of his worry for his lover. 

Skinner snapped the phone off, and said, "Here in ten, they said. Twenty tops." 

"I don't think that will be enough time," Scully said through gritted teeth. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. 

"It will have to be. I want to know where the hell everyone else is. McCormick, for example." He looked off into the woods. "We shouldn't be running around here without adequate backup." 

*-without adequate backup. Again. Tell me, Mulder, do you ditch Scully to make her neurotic, or me? 

*It's not like that, Walter, I just-- 

*--just what, Mulder? Just want to get yourself killed? 

*That's not fair! 

*What's not fair is the way you think you can just bugger off every time someone shouts E.T. phone home, without so much as a 'see ya later'. Don't you know there are people who worry about you? 

*... 

*What was that? 

*I said why the hell would anyone worry about me? 

*I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, Mulder. You know damned well that Scully would probably jump through rings of fire for you by now. And if you're questioning how I feel about you... 

*I guess I just don't see the attraction. You said it yourself, Walter. I'm a neurotic loner with suicidal tendencies. You and Scully both should just get the hell away from me while you can. 

*Shit, Mulder, get down off the cross, someone else needs the wood! 

*What? 

*Do you think martyring yourself like this is going to make things better for the people who care about you? Did it ever occur to you that we just might like you? Love you, even when you can't seem to love yourself? Come here. 

*Oh, Walter... 

*Mulder, you don't make loving you easy. But I'd rather spend the rest of my life worrying about loving you than worrying about losing you... 

*For whatever it's worth, Walter. I love you too. And I promise, I'll take Scully along on my next life threatening situation... 

*Hey, if it keeps you safe... 

"...safe. What do you think? 

"Sorry, Scully, just worrying. It's what us A.D. types do. What do I think of what?" He startled when he heard the sound of breaking branches, and reached for his gun. Only when he determined that it was the paramedics he had called did he let down his guard. 

He and Scully watched silently as Detective Josan was poked, prodded and pronounced. 

"I don't like this at all," Skinner muttered to no one. Scully patted his arm in a clumsy yet comforting way, although he didn't think she was even aware she was doing it. They moved back as the medics took the dead man away on a stretcher, and then Skinner looked down at the map that Josan had lost his life to give them. He had been kneading it compulsively for many minutes, and he frowned at the blood now grimed into his hands. 

"We have to figure out how this ties in with what's happened to Mulder," said Scully. Skinner was lost in his own unhappy thoughts, so Scully tried petting his arm again. He suddenly looked old to her. 

"He'll be safe. We'll make it happen, sir, I promise you." 

He didn't reply. Didn't need to. She could see the worry and the hope and the fear, and most of all, the love, etched across his face. 

"Let's go." She started off into the trees, knowing he would follow. 

* * *

*Jesus, he's got a gun. Oh man, I am so dead here! What happened to me? I can see--I can move--sorta--okay, I can sit up--is that blood in my lap--hurts...I taste blood in my mouth--who the hell is this Ranger Dan knockoff--what's that? Who's there? Oh, man, this is so not how I thought it would be--not tonight--today---there's supposed to be candlelight--wine--Walter--oh, no, is that the little girl--No! Oh, shit! No! I thought she was--she could've been--well, she's dead now--fucking bastard! More sounds--is that dog's barking? Is that someone coming--why can't they hear me? Fuck off, buddy, get that gun the hell outta my face--what? What the hell does that mean? Move? I can't! I-what do you mean? What--no time to put me out? Hey, no, don't--I'll come along quietly copper, I swear, you don't have to roughs me up! Oh god, don't touch me there, please, no, don't, oh my god, OH MY GOD--* 

* * *

part eight  
What the World Needs Now Is Love 

* * *

Skinner burst into the room gun first, had a moment of shock over the lurid scene displayed before him, and then had to duck back out when McCormick fired at him. He felt the heat of the bullet as it roared past him and embedded itself into the wall, and then he was pressing himself to the hallway wall just to the right of the doorway. He took several deep breaths, and then risked a peek into the room. 

The little girl on the floor was thin and pale and quite obviously dead, as evidenced by the large hole in her chest. Skinner recognized the signature gaping of an exit wound, and he realized that whomever had killed her had shot her in the back. 

'Sneaky fucking coward' he thought angrily. He had a moment of black hate sweep over him like night, like death itself, and then it was gone, and it was all the time he had for the little dead girl. His focus was on Mulder. 

When he'd entered the room, his gaze had been immediately drawn to his lover, and his first horrified impression was that he was dead. Mulder was slumped over to one side, his arms tied behind his back, his eyes closed. It looked like the man was bare from the waist up, but when Skinner looked back in, he realized that what he had mistaken for red shorts of some kind was in fact blood. Lots of blood. 

McCormick's next shot nearly took the top of Skinner's head off, and he felt splinters of wood prick at his scalp as the bullet splintered the doorframe. Skinner regrouped again, muttering dark curses. He couldn't stay in the door way long enough to aim his weapon, and he couldn't risk firing blind and hitting Mulder. 'Wouldn't matter anyway, he's dead', some malicious part of his mind told him, and he sent a dire warning to it, shutting out the thought entirely, although he couldn't contain that part of him that was almost throwing up from worry. 

"Skinner!" 

He startled at the sound of McCormick calling his name. At first he was too surprised to respond, and then too suspicious. When the man called out a second time, he peeked his head into the doorway. 

McCormick was holding Mulder by his bound hands. Mulder was kneeling, barely, at the man's feet, head tipped forward senselessly, and Skinner felt his heart clench. When McCormick saw him, he jerked hard on Mulder's arms, pulling them up behind the man's back cruelly. A barely audible moan escaped the imprisoned man, a sound that simultaneously horrified and relieved Skinner. Alive, Mulder might be, but there was still all that blood, and...he had to look away as his legs wanted to suddenly cross themselves. 

"Let it go, Skinner," said McCormick. "This is no longer your concern. You just walk away now, and let me do the same, and maybe you'll live to fight another day." When Skinner didn't respond, he wrenched Mulder's arms up again, got another pained sound. "And maybe 'your boy' here won't wind up like this little do-gooder clone!" He kicked at the little girl's body. 

"What the hell are you doing, McCormick?" Skinner growled through teeth clenched so hard his jaw was aching, though it was the least of his concerns. He struggled to find all the rules of negotiation that the bureau had pounded into him as an agent, and realized that said rules went right out the window when it was someone you loved, someone who was so important to you that the sight of that person in danger, in need, blotted out everything but the desire to rush right in and take him in your arms, to comfort him and protect him. And of course, to tear a new asshole out of anyone who threatened to harm him. His thoughts were tinged red with hatred and black with fury, and he found himself breathing hard through his nose, almost hyperventilating. 

"I told you Skinner. This operation is on a need to know basis, and it's not something you need to know. Now just get your old balding ass outta here, and maybe I won't put a bullet in this stupid bastard's head!" 

Skinner could hear the anger in McCormick's voice, but he thought he could sense panic there, too, and he hoped like hell he could keep the man from doing something rash. 

"What do you need my agent for, McCormick?" he called out. When no answer came, he tried it differently. "Listen to me. Leave him, and I'll let you go. I can't guarantee your safety otherwise!" 

"Mulder's too important to the equation," McCormick replied. "You know that." 

Part of him did. While Skinner had never completely convinced himself that all of his lover's theories on the powers that be, or, in this case, the powers that be bad, were sound, or at least half-way provable, he did know that there was something going on. Something that kept his office smelling like smoke. Something that gave him files, and employees that he didn't recognize. Something that had threatened his lover before. He sometimes thought that the fact that Mulder hadn't been killed outright long before this was nothing short of amazing... 

*amazing, Mulder... 

*You apparently bring out the best in me...or at least the horniest! 

*You feel incredible... 

*I love your post-sex hazy compliments, Walter; they're great for my ego! 

*I'm serious, Mulder. What you do to me... 

*...is still illegal in seventeen states! But I won't tell if you won't! 

_L_ My lips are sealed. 

*Now...not for long, though...I hope. 

*You're incorrigible, Mulder. I think you love me just for the sex. 

*Of course I do, Walter. I mean, isn't that why you love me? 

*Smart ass--hey! Mulder, you're not serious? Shit! Get your ass over here! My God, hon, do you really think that? 

*I don't know. I guess I just don't see what appeal a neurotic anti-social maverick with serious self-destructive tendencies can have for you...except for that thing I do with my tongue... 

*Well, I'm not going to complain about that, but...but Mulder...Fox...If I could never touch you again, or you never touched me...well, that wouldn't change the way I feel about you. 

*Aw, jeez, Walter-- 

*I mean it! I love you, you neurotic, self-destructive, anti-social maverick! 

_L_ Thanks Walter. Hey, what the hell are you doing _L_? 

What the hell am I doing? Walter realized he'd almost been daydreaming. The desire to have his lover whole, safe and in his arms had nearly overwhelmed him to the point where he'd started drifting off into a memory. There'd been no reply from McCormick, and no sound either. Walter thought he could risk one more look into the room, and was just about to do so when all hell broke loose. From the room came a coughing boom of breaking glass, Different voices yelling in different octaves: Scully's clear and furious rising above McCormick's gruff and equally mad. More glass shattering, and the thud of a body falling onto the floor. Gunshots, and then a distinctive yell that could only have come from his lover. 

This last caused Skinner to chuck all his cautious ways, shake off all the memories, and leap into the room. 

* * *

*Oh God it hurts, it hurts, Walter, it hurts, so much, I can't-no-no-oh, uhhh...Shit, now I know why they call it hardwood. Oh, jeez, I can feel the blood...head so heavy...just want to sleep...it's time to sleep, now, Walter will wake me soon...just a nightmare and oh, my arms, oh, OH! No, don't please don't, please...ohhh...no pleasepleaseplease...oh, Walter, this is a bad one, please wake me up, I can't, I can't feel-no, don't--oh god! What the hell was that? Scully? What are you doing in my dream? Hey, no, not the gun! Shit, gotta wake up, come on Mulder you can do this--just open your eyes, boy, and Walter will take care of this--Scully? Scully are you okay? More blood--I'm not liking this dream at all! Oh, look, here's the floor again. My arms..ugh, my balls...okay, I can't do this...fine, shoot me...oh, Walter--* 

* * *

part nine  
I'll Never Fall In Love Again 

* * *

A matched pair of paramedics crashed through the rough brush, ignoring the snags and stabs the surrounding forest was giving them and their equipment. Above the sound of their movements, the radios attached to their hips crackled and hissed and chattered at one another: 

"...shots fired, two, or possibly three persons down...according to this you're going to need to take in the stretchers...contact on the scene is one Walter Skinner...247, are you copying?" 

The first man thumbed a switch on the radio and yelled "Got it!" without slowing his pace a fraction, or moving the radio. 

Moments later they were bursting into a clearing, where Walter Skinner was standing, gun aimed at them. He realized their intent immediately, lowered his weapon, and waved them on, towards the small cabin behind him. 

"Hurry!" he shouted, as if they were doing anything else. But, to his mind, they seemed to be moving impossibly slow, and it was all he could do to wait for them to cross the clearing. He shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, and, as soon as they were close enough, he nearly shoved them into the small dwelling. One of the collapsed stretchers got hung up in the doorway, and Skinner cursed it, then turned to the paramedics, saying, "Go, I'll get this!" His tone, authoritarian yet somehow tinged with panic, didn't allow for argument. Still toting one stretcher and their heavy metal kits, they moved into the house. 

They paused in the living room, noting it was a sparsely furnished room and that nothing looked amiss. 

"Not here--the other room," Walter exclaimed behind them, still struggling with the stretcher. "Down the hall--go, dammit!" The force of his words seemed to add to his efforts, and the stretcher came into the cabin with a crash as it fell to the floor. The paramedics were already running down the short hallway, and Skinner dragged the stretcher behind them, catching up with them as they entered the room. 

'The lab', thought Skinner. He couldn't bring himself to consider it a bedroom. 

The room was a masterpiece of chaos and disorder. Broken glass from the one large window glittered dangerously on the floor, beautifully inviting cuts. A mirror hung in jagged shards on one wall, adding it's own sharp edges to the route. An overwide hospital bed stood in the center of the room, stripped to just a coversheet, and it's white surface was mottled with red. The stench of gunsmoke and blood competed with the tang of disinfectant and industrial laundry soap, and someone was groaning quietly. 

Skinner saw none of this, smelled none of it, heard nothing. He only had eyes for one person in the room, and he was fairly dancing with impatience as the paramedics took in the scene, and moved towards the victims. 

The little girl was first, and she was so obviously dead that neither of the paramedics thought to check for a pulse. Unable to do anything for her, the first man moved to cover her with a blanket that they had brought with them, while the second man confirmed the casualty on the radio. Clipping the radio back to his belt, he joined his partner at the second body. 

A large man in khakis stained with blood gazed sightlessly up at the two men. One checked for a pulse, shrugged and noted the time on his watch, and the second one brushed the man's eyes closed. A second blanket was draped over the dead man. 

Skinner watched them performing their duties, barely able to restrain himself. He understood their need to be thorough and methodical, but at the same time he thought he could suggest a course of action just as thorough and methodical that involved a lot less checking of dead people, and a lot more checking of live ones. 

The groaning grew fainter, and Skinner jumped when Scully called out his name. He nearly knocked over one of the paramedics as he rushed to her side. 

She was kneeling on the floor, and looked up at him as he approached. He could see blood in her hair and on her forehead, where McCormick's first wild shot had grazed her. A raised red knot on her cheek was going to bruise spectacularly, he could tell, and she held one arm close to her chest, the wrist turned awkwardly. Another bruise was already forming there, and the t-shirt was torn even more at the shoulder, as her arm had jerked back dramatically when McCormick had kicked the gun from her hand. 

Much of the damage in the room had been the result of both Skinner and Scully trying to take out the man without posing any more danger to Mulder. The only shot McCormick had managed was the one that had blown the mirror apart, and in the process, nearly taken off the top of Scully's head. After that he'd settled for pistol-whipping her across the face when she'd tried to grapple with him, tried to get between him and Mulder. 

For one grim moment, Skinner wished McCormick hadn't given up his life with just a simple shoulder take down shot, and, when he'd aimed his gun at Mulder, the kill shot through the chest. This fresh look at Scully's injuries made him want to shoot the man all over again. Never mind that his lover... 

Mulder lay on his back, his face nearly as white as the sheet which was covering him from neck to feet. Once the smoke had cleared, and the medics were on their way, Scully had pulled a sheet from the bed, covering Mulder's nakedness, while Skinner gently untied his lover's wrists, wincing at the red welts the restraints had left. He had tried calling his name, softly at first, then louder, but the man remained unconscious. Scully had touched his brow briefly, then his groin, and then pulled the sheet over him with a sigh. Immediately, deadly blood-red flowers had bloomed on the sheet above his groin, and a groan had issued from between too pale lips. 

The groaning had continued throughout the wait, but to Skinner, pained as the sound was, it was still a reason to hope. For one brief horrified moment he'd been absolutely sure that Mulder was dead, and he thought his heart might actually burst out of his chest, such was the pain there. 

"Scully, is he--?" he couldn't finish the thought. 

"He's unconscious, and needs both blood and oxygen. What the hell are those two playing at?" 

He almost recoiled at the vehemence in her tone, then moved closer, a little ashamed that he had not taken her feelings into account, so wrapped up in his own fears that he had almost forgotten how important Mulder was to her, too... 

*You're important to her, Mulder. 

*I know that, Walter, but she pulled a gun on you! 

*It was understandable. She thought I had something to do with your death. That I was trying to kill her. 

*How could she think that? 

*How could she not. It's not like we'd told her about us...and let's face it, I haven't always been your ally... 

*you've always supported our work, in your own way, Walter. 

*I could have done more. I'm going to do more. 

*I've always known where you stand. Remember, you told me...that line...I won't ask for more than you can give me...us...the work. 

*You deserve my loyalty, Mulder. Scully does, too. I have to believe in you. I do believe. 

*Wow, where's a tape recorder when you need one? This moment should be recorded for posterity. 

*Now, don't get too excited there, Mulder. Just because I'm willing to support you and Scully in your work on the X-Files, don't expect me to sign off on your travel requests every time you hear about some housewife seeing Riticulans in her refridgerator... 

*Aw, and I was just about to ask! 

*You know, for that smile, I'd just about offer to examine one of those fridges for you myself. 

*That'd be great. Scully says she never can see the little footprints in the butter. I think she's too skeptical sometimes. 

*Sometimes Scully knows exactly where that line of ours is, hon. You're lucky to have her. 

*I know. We should take her out, I think. Soon. You know... 

*You're right. It's your call, of course, but I'd like to be there to help... 

"...help." 

Skinner jumped at the sound of Scully's voice. The paramedics had finally gotten around to Mulder and Scully, and the latter was brushing off the attentions of them in order to focus their life saving efforts on Mulder. She had turned to Skinner and held out her hand. 

Carefully, mindful of her injuries, Skinner helped her to her feet, just as two more medics came into the room. Orders and requests snapped back and forth between the four of them, while Skinner supported Scully with one arm around her slim waist. 

Finally, the police arrived on the scene. Immediately the bedlam in the room doubled, then tripled. Skinner knew he should take control of the situation, find the man in charge and start issuing a formal statement. He knew he should get Scully some medical attention, even if she didn't think she needed it. He knew that the two of them were the key witnesses to everything, and that there were questions that only they could answer. 

Then he saw that Mulder had been loaded onto a stretcher, fitted with both an IV and an oxygen mask, and his eyes were open. And he knew exactly what he had to do. 

Scully knew it too, and she disengaged herself from his hold gently, then nudged him as the paramedics wheeled Mulder past them, and Skinner caught the pained look in his lover's hazel eyes. 

"Go with him, sir. I'll meet you at the hospital." 

When he didn't respond, she pushed him again. 

"You need to be there." 

He didn't have to be told twice, and a tired smile found it's way onto Scully's face as she watched him charge after Mulder. 

* * *

*I'm sorry, I will, I will, I promise, I do, I, Walter, I luh--* 

* * *

part ten  
Always You 

* * *

Skinner looked away from the glass partition between him and the I.C.U. as Scully approached him. He had been leaning heavily on said glass wall, but now he turned towards his lover's friend as she walked slowly towards him, and came to a halt at his side. Instinctively, she reached for his hand, and they gazed at one another, her worried expression mirrored perfectly in his dark eyes. 

"Are you all right, Dana?" He took a moment to be concerned for her as well as the man on the other side of the glass. The white bandage wrapped high on her forehead stood out in stark contrast to her red hair, and the blue smudge that bruised and puffed out her cheek. He glanced down at the hand he was holding, saw that the wrist was wrapped in a thick tensor bandage, and immediately let up his grip, even though she'd voiced no complaint. 

"I'll be fine, sir. The doctor here tells me Mulder was awake." 

"For a minute, yeah. They slapped him on some heavy dope, though. So they could--you know--repair--uh--" 

She saw that he was wincing, most likely unaware that he was doing so, but she could imagine. For one moment she felt entirely grateful not to be a man, not to have to hear about what had happened to her partner, never mind having it actually happen. 

"He asked for you," Skinner said. Scully gave him a startled look, and he added, "He woke up in the ambulance, remembered seeing you. I couldn't seem to convince him that he wasn't dreaming." He paused a moment, some kind of sad grin on his face, one that spoke of relief and horror vying for first place in his heart. 

"What did his doctor tell you?" Scully wanted to know. 

Skinner shrugged, and there was tension there that looked like it wanted to be anger. In fact, the doctor had been less than helpful, first demanding that Skinner get 'the hell outta the way already!' when Mulder had first been rushed into the emergency room, then informing the almost-out-of-his-mind-with-worry man that "he could get a statement later--much later!" As if the man lying so pale and still on the hospital table was nothing more than any old victim of any old crime. Some part of Skinner wanted to be reasonable, to understand that the doctor was simply putting the needs of his patient first, and that to him, Skinner was simply there in an official capacity, as law enforcement, rather than as family. 

But his rational self was soundly kicked out of the game when Mulder had cried out his name in a high panicky voice even as interns and nurses were bustling around him, injecting and masking and wheeling him off to an operating room, and the doctor was suddenly confronted, not with an FBI agent in charge of a case, but with an unfettered grizzly bear who was about to tear him a new asshole if he didn't get some answers. 

Still, the doctor showed remarkable, or possibly foolhardy courage, when he calmly informed Skinner that until he could assess the damage for himself, at this point all he could tell the man was that his patient was suffering from some sort of infection, and obviously NOT self-inflicted wounds to the groin. 

And then he was gone, and Skinner had been made to wait in some tacky little anteroom, with nothing but stale coffee and old magazines for comfort. A call on his cell phone had confirmed that the scene had been sealed off, but that no other persons had been found, and that all records of what exactly had been taking place in that cabin had been confiscated by the Bureau. The faceless officer on the phone also added that Agent Scully was on her way in a second ambulance, and that she would be there soon for debriefing, along with the rest of the officers that had finally turned a two-person rescue into an actual investigation. 

Scully still hadn't arrived by the time Mulder had been brought back from surgery, and Skinner was beginning to get concerned, although he could barely keep most of his thoughts from Mulder, who was now "resting comfortably" in an ICU bed. Despite bringing all his considerable if not-often used charms to the fore, he was unable to get the nurse to allow him into the room. 

And so he had been standing here, separated from Mulder, by only a few feet, which may as well have been the Grand Canyon, when Scully had arrived. 

"What can you tell me, Dana?" he asked softly. 

"Well, probably only a little more than the doctors know at this point. Mulder seems to have been suffering from some sort of viral infection, although it doesn't seem to be anything much more than a particularly nasty version of the flu. However, between the exposure from being wounded and outside for a prolonged period, coupled with the--um--procedure that he underwent, the infection spread much more rapidly than it normally would have, and--well, let's just say he's going to need as much chicken soup as you can feed him." 

Skinner gave her the small smile she was hoping for, then swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and asked, "Did you find out anything from those files? What did they do to him?" When she looked hesitant, he added, "I need to know." 

"Well, I haven't been able to find out everything, sir," she replied. "But from the documents I was able to study on the way over here, it appears that agents unknown seem to have set up some sort of-uh-'sperm bank'. Collecting samples from donors whose only known connection that's recorded is, um, unusual encounters." 

Skinner seemed to mull this over a moment, then gave Scully a skeptical look, "They were taking sperm from abductees?" 

"I recognized some of the other names on a list in one of the files...from X-Files." 

"I don't understand." 

"Well, sir, I can't say that I do either, but at this point, all we know is that, at least in Mulder's case, it was NOT a voluntary procedure. At all." 

Skinner winced. 

"Recovery from that sort of trauma is going to be a long time coming...if at all." She suddenly grew teary eyed, and added, "I'm so sorry, sir." 

"He's a fighter, Scully," Skinner replied, trying to drive the horror show out of his head. 

"You're right, sir..."she squeezed his hand, "Walter..." 

*Walter? 

*Shhh, Fox, don't try to talk... 

*What--where am I? 

*You're okay. You're going to be okay... 

*Is Scully here? 

*We're taking you to the hospital, Fox. You've been hurt 

*Don't call me Fox...you know I hate it when you do that! 

*Take it easy...Mulder. Come on, hon, lie back-- 

*Is it really you, Walter? I'm so hot... 

*Is there something you can give him? 

*Walter? Who else is here? Where's Scully? Am I dreaming? 

*Easy, son, you're going to be all right. I promise. I'm right here, Fox, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you... 

*You must be real... 

*Of course I am. I-I love you 

*I know 

"...I know" 

Scully smiled at him. 

"You don't have to tell me, sir. He's the most stubborn man I know, too. Well, maybe the second most stubborn." She gave him a knowing look and he couldn't help the embarrassed grin in return. 

"Why don't you see if you can go in and sit with him a while, Dana. They'd probably be okay with that, you being his doctor and all. And I think he'd like that." 

"Will you be all right, sir? I could try--" 

Skinner could see her wrestling with the dilemma. 

"Of course. I have a dozen agents to debrief, and a hundred files to decipher." 

He looked suddenly younger to Scully, and she realized what a weight she had lifted from him, just with her simple explanation, based on what little she knew. After a brief struggle, her desire to be near her partner, to assure herself of his safety, won out over her need to play helpful best friend and ace investigator for Skinner. 

He understood completely. He glanced one last time at Mulder, then gave Scully's shoulder a pat and, in a voice suddenly rough with emotion, said, "Tell him I'll be in to see him as soon as it's allowed. And please, call me if he--if he needs anything." 

"Yes, sir," She was on the other side of the glass a moment later, and Skinner felt his heart leap when he saw Mulder's head turn towards her. He found himself unable to pull himself away from the scene, feeling somehow like an intruder, but somehow welcome as well. 

As he watched, Mulder's eyes opened, closed, then opened again. He seemed unsure of where he was, and his gaze moved restlessly around the room. He looked across to where Skinner was standing, appeared to see him, and then looked away again. Then he was focusing on the woman pulling a chair up beside the bed, and Skinner saw him smile before he turned and walked away. 

* * *

Mulder frowned at Skinner's retreating back for a moment, then turned his attention to Scully as she spoke. 

"Hiya, partner," she smiled and took his hand, felt him squeeze it almost imperceptibly. "How are you feeling?" 

"I feel like I did something immoral with a Shop-Vac*" He paused, cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "How bad is it, Scully?" he asked, his gaze drifting to the spot that Skinner had just left vacant. He felt Scully's grip on his hand tighten. 

"I won't kid you, Mulder, it was bad. Add on a nasty bug on top of what happened, and, well-well, it's just a good thing that whomever did this to you was at least half-ways competent." 

He tried to make light of it, but even with the medication he'd apparently been given, he could still feel a dull throb between his legs, and a solid mass of bandages formed an almost obscenely large bump in the sheet covering him. And Scully read the terror in his voice when he smiled sickly and asked, "Tell me, doc, will I ever play the violin again?" 

"I'm sure everything's going to be fine, Mulder." 

He hoped she was right. 

"Rest a little more, Mulder. Give the meds a chance to do their work." 

"You're the doctor," he agreed easily, fatigue thickening his words. A yawn suddenly broke from him, and he said, "Stick around a little?" 

"Of course." 

"Thanks," 

His eyes slipped shut, and a trembling sigh gusted out of him. He continued to hold her hand tightly as sleep crept in to claim him, and for the briefest of moments, Scully wondered what he dreamed... 

* * *

*Walter? Walter? Please, I just want to go home. Wait for me, please, I just have to--I won't, I can't. Oh, no, please don't leave me here. I just want to be with--I'm sorry, whatever it was--whatever I did, I promise I--just please don't go...oh, yes, yes, that's what I--I dreamed of this--I've dreamed of you. If only we could just--wait, no--I said I'm sorry. I'll be what you need. I just--You can't leave me like this. Oh, please Walter, I'm so sorry...don't leave me!* 

* * *

part eleven  
If You Want To Be Happy 

* * *

Skinner looked across the table at his lover, and frowned. 

Mulder didn't look like a man who had been released from the hospital over two weeks ago. He looked like a man ready to be admitted. 

Skinner had taken some personal leave time while Mulder had been in the hospital, and had offered to take more, once it was decided that he could be released, but his lover had been adamant that Skinner return to work. He didn't want to be a bother, he had said. He didn't need Skinner hovering over him, he'd said. He was fine, he'd said. 

'Fine', thought Skinner, 'Is that what we're calling this?' 

After weeks of medication, oral, intravenous and otherwise, Mulder had finally kicked the bug that had led to him having to stay so long in the hospital. The damage to his penis had been extensive, but it was the infection that had turned a week's worth of healing into nearly a month before they could celebrate the day that Mulder was able to take a turn in the bathroom himself, without a machine or a nurse to do the job for him. 

It wasn't long after that that Mulder had begun clamoring even more loudly for release, claiming that if he could shake it himself, he could do it at home just as easy as in a hospital room. Skinner had been ecstatic at the prospect, and even Mulder looked like he might manage a smile. 

His first night home, however, was far from celebratory. Skinner had done everything he could to make Mulder comfortable. Maybe he had been a little suffocating, but dammit, he'd come so close to losing him, and he just wanted everything to be perfect. 

The new definition of perfect included Mulder doing little more than picking at supper, although Skinner had made sure to order his favorite Italian take out, curling up unresponsive on the couch afterward, even when Skinner conferred on him that greatest of honours, control of the television remote, and waving away the suggestion of bed, telling Skinner he'd be up later. 

Wishing he could do otherwise, but respecting Mulder's need for space, Skinner had gone up to bed, and waited for his lover to join him. And waited. 

He woke hours later, as Mulder slipped into the bed beside him. Immediately he'd reached out for the man, but gotten a firm hand pushing him away, and a choked voice saying "please, Walter, not tonight." 

'He's fine,' Skinner told himself again. 

It had been like this for two weeks now. Mulder was eating little, sleeping less. He spent most of his time on the couch, seldom dressing beyond sweats and t-shirts, and Skinner often came home from work to find Mulder asleep, curled up in a ball under a blanket. He learned after the first abrupt awakening, when Mulder had screamed at his touch and cried in confused terror upon waking, to just let the man sleep. He usually came around while Skinner was trying to create something, anything, in the kitchen that would peak Mulder's appetite. So far, he hadn't found the right combination of foods, but he had to keep trying--any other overt shows of concern were gently, and sometimes not so gently, rebuffed by his lover. 

They hadn't made love since the night before Mulder had been taken. 

Skinner thought he understood. He did his best not to take it personally. He knew that Mulder was still healing, physically and emotionally, and that he should be solicitious of his lover's needs. And it would have been fine, if it had just been sex. But Mulder was drawing away from him on every level. Whereas before all this their relationship had been very physically intimate, now it was nearly non-existent. Before, petting, kissing, simple physical contact had nearly been a constant between the two of them, at least at home. Now Mulder went to great pains to avoid even the simplest of caresses. 

If it had been just plain rejection, he might have been able to deal with it. But it was the look in Mulder's eyes every time he ducked away from Skinner's hand, every time he turned away from a kiss. It was the look of an animal trapped in a snare--terrified and hurting and angry and confused, a combination that made Skinner's heart ache, especially since he wasn't even sure if Mulder knew it was there. 

'It's just going to take time,' he told himself. And again: 'He's going to be fine.' 

*...fine. 

*You always say that, Walter. Do you know what fine really means? 

*What are you talking about, Mulder? 

*Fine. The word fine. When someone says they're fine, do you know what they're really saying? 

*No, I don't. 

*I learned this at Oxford, Walter, my first year there. I was a little freaked at being there, you know, whole other country, didn't know a soul, all that sort of thing. I met someone...older... 

*Oh? 

*Hey, none of that Scully-brow shit, Walter. Suffice to say, this person was just someone who came along at the right time. 

*I want a name. 

*You would! Let's just call him The Professor. 

*I think I'm seeing a trend here, hon. 

*Hey, we can do a psyche evaluation on my desire for authority figures later. Right now, we're talking about you. 

*I thought we were talking about Oxford. 

*Do you want to hear this, or what? 

*Oh, I'm all ears 

*I'm not touching that one. Anyway, this--friend--took me to task one time because I would always say I was fine, even when I wasn't. And he said, that fine was really an acronym. And what it really meant was Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. 

*Flattering 

*Don't you see, though, Walter, he was right. I do that. And you do it too. Use fine when we want to lie to ourselves...to others. 

*Okay, new rule. Nobody's fine in this house. Everybody's good. 

*I like that rule! 

*Why don't you get over here and show me how good you can really be... 

*Sounds good to me! 

Skinner pulled himself away from the fantasy of Mulder's warm smile, and faced the reality that was Mulder's current expression. 

Mulder might have been facing a firing squad instead of a simple meal of brown rice and vegetables. He was glaring down at his plate, when something in the silence must have alerted him to Skinner's gaze, and he looked over at the older man, looked guilty, looked away. Then, with a small straightening of his shoulders, he turned back to his plate. He stabbed a green pepper almost viciously with his fork, raised it to his mouth, and appeared to require an almost Herculean effort to take in the food, chew for far too long, and swallow painfully. Then a wan smile for Skinner, who had to turn away from the display, feeling tears threatening. 

He shoved his chair back, stood and was at his lover's side in a handful of heartbeats. 

"Are you tired, hon? Did you want to go lie down for a while?" he offered. 

Then he watched, fascinated, as a shifting light show of emotions played across Mulder's face. Relief, and something akin to gratitude first, making his eyes shine briefly, and the tight lines around his mouth softened as he licked his lips almost unconsciously. Only a fraction of a second later, he was biting the same lower lip and something hot and hateful made his eyes narrow. Again, the look was there and gone so fast that Skinner barely had time to register it, and then Mulder was rearranging his features into something thin-lipped and resentful. 

"I'm fine, Walter," he replied with more vehemence than the situation warranted. Skinner didn't answer, just read the emotional weather in his lover's face, and decided that he needed to push a little, for both of them. 

"Are you finished?" He gestured at Mulder's nearly full plate. "Was it okay? I mean, you're the one who said it takes a special kind of stupid to fuck up a stir fry, but--" 

He almost got a smile for that, although it barely turned up the corner of Mulder's mouth 

"You don't have to baby me, Walter," he replied. 

"I don't have to do anything," Skinner shot back. "You're the one who said we don't have to do anything, we just want to--" 

"I can't believe you listen to any of that crap," Mulder growled. 

"Who are you angry at, Mulder?" Skinner gave him a controlled look. 

In response, Mulder's shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head, studying his plate miserably. 

Skinner put one large hand on the back of Mulder's neck. 

"It's going to be okay, Fox," he whispered, squeezing tense muscle, and feeling Mulder's breath hitch in his throat. "Some how we're going to make it right." 

"The hell!" Mulder suddenly exploded up from his chair, knocking the older man's hand away from himself and in the process accidentally hitting the table with such force that his plate tumbled off of the edge and fell to the floor with a crash. 

"Mulder!" Skinner reached out for his distraught lover. 

Mulder shoved him. It wasn't a particularly hard push, but it made him backpedal a step, and his foot landed squarely in the middle of Mulder's uneaten supper. His leg shot out from under him and he went down, clipping his chin on the table edge as he did so, and groaning as he landed on his ass so hard his teeth clicked together. 

He could hear whistling sobs coming from Mulder as the man ran from the room. A moment later he heard the bedroom door slam. 

"Shit!" He swore under his breath, winced as he stood, but didn't hesitate to leave the mess in the kitchen as he went in pursuit of his lover. 

He approached the closed door with a combined determination and fear. He knew that he had opened up something that had been festering in Mulder for weeks now. A demon that Mulder had been harboring inside himself, one that was shadowing his eyes, emaciating his body, and tormenting his mind. And now that it was loose, he felt responsible for it. It might be Mulder's demon, but to Skinner's mind, that made it his as well, and he had to get Mulder to accept his help, accept him. Or it would destroy them both. 

He knocked on the door. He could hear Fox sobbing. 

"Go away! Leave me alone!" This in a voice so thick with tears and self-loathing that Skinner felt his own eyes watering in response. 

"Please, Fox, let me in!" 

"No!" More crying sounds and Skinner's heart was breaking, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door. He had to be given permission. 

"Fox--" 

"I said go away! Just fuck off, Walter!" 

"I won't!" But he was backing away just the same. He stood back and looked at the door for a long time, listening to those horrible noises on the other side. Abruptly he came to a decision, and sat down in the hall, facing the door. "I am right here, Fox." 

No response. 

"And I'm not going anywhere." He could picture his lover on the other side of the door, and he suddenly grinned--it wasn't a happy expression. It was the face of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. "No," he said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere..." 

* * *

*Damn him! Damn his stubborness and damn his compassion and damn every other thing that I just can't think about right now! Does he think I want this? Does he think I planned for it to be this way? Can't he see that I can't be what he wants me to be? That I'm just one more burden for those fucking wonderful shoulders? Doesn't he know that I've tried. That I want things back the way they were...I want it so much! But I can't! I've tried and I've tried and I've tried, and look at me! I'm a mess--as usual! Fucking useless Mulder! Fine Mulder, if you like--waste of breath Mulder, if you ask me! He doesn't deserve this shit! I don't deserve him! I've got to go--if he won't throw me out like he should, then I have to be the one to do it---but God, I don't want to...he's everything to me! And I'm nothing to him...not anymore...I'm not going to make him do this anymore...* 

* * *

part twelve  
All Through the Night 

* * *

The security door disengaged with a harsh buzzing sound before Skinner could even press the button next to Scully's name on the intercom. Of course, she had to have known he was coming. She was the one who'd called him, after all, scaring the crap out of him when he'd awoken, still in the hallway, to discover Mulder missing. After the first shock of seeing the open bedroom door, and a fleeting thought of kidnappers, he had paid attention to what Scully was saying, and hung up on her as soon as he heard the words "He's here," in tinny cell-phone tones. 

He wasn't giving the Tylenol he'd taken on the drive over much of a chance to work on the kink in his neck as he hustled down the hall to Scully's door, but it was a distant ache, hardly worth noticing, compared to the pain that threatened to force his heart out through his throat any second now. All his concern was for Mulder, and the fact that it appeared to be unwanted concern just added to his misery. 

Again, Scully was waiting, door open before he could knock, and she escorted him into the living room waving him silently over to the couch. He sat almost unwillingly, eyes scanning the apartment with fierce scrutiny, trying to will into existence a lover that appeared not to be. He turned to Scully with the question already poised on his lips, but her back was to him, and she was moving away. 

Scully disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared moments later with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to him, then sat next to him on the couch, and said in a normal tone of voice, "He's sleeping. I gave him a pill." 

Skinner nearly spilled his coffee as he started to rise. Scully's hand was gentle on his arm, but held all the strength of steel, and he slowly sank back down on the couch. He turned troubled eyes on her. 

"What did I do, that he could leave like that?" 

"It wasn't you, sir, and you know that," her tone was gentle but admonishing just the same, and he felt a flush rise up in his cheeks. "This is Mulder's fight." 

"With me?" he couldn't help asking. 

"With himself," she corrected. "I don't know if you understand how he feels right now." 

He opened his mouth, started to defend himself hotly. How dare she question his relationship with Mulder? And now of all times. Then he shut it with a snap. How could he know what Mulder was feeling--the man wasn't talking. At least not to him. Some part of the puzzle that was his lover seemed to fall into place, and he suddenly realized that maybe Mulder hadn't been running from him, from them, maybe he'd been running to someplace...to someone... 

"He trusts you," he mused aloud. Scully simply nodded. 

"He doesn't trust me," he said, but that didn't feel right, and he noticed Scully frowning. "He doesn't trust himself with me," he amended. There was something to think about, and he did so, sipping at his coffee and letting his mind sift through a hundred different memories, a thousand lines of dialogue, worrying them like a dog with a bone, and then sifting and sorting them into some sort of understandable conclusion. Scully didn't interrupt his thoughts, just kept quiet and drank her own coffee. A small sound from the bedroom startled them both, but Scully rose first. 

"I'll just check," she told him needlessly. Everything in him called out to go with her, and he didn't. 

Scully could see the tension flaring in Skinner's jaw, a tic she recognized from a myriad of frustrating incidents she'd been witness to under his supervision, and she knew he wanted to go with her, wanted her to ask him to. But it wasn't time. He still had to understand, if he was going to approach Mulder with anything resembling a solution. So she simply walked away, willing him to stay where he was. He did, and moment later she was back, and he gave her a questioning look. 

"I think my bed's too short for him," she said with a small smile. He returned it around his coffee cup, and they lapsed into a friendly silence. Scully watched as he always so stern supervisor's features changed and softened with each new thought. 

At last, he said quietly, "He's blaming himself for what happened to him." 

"Mulder's always been one to borrow guilt," Scully agreed. 

"But it's more than just that." Skinner continued in that same thoughtful tone of voice. "He's always used that guilt somehow. Gained some sort of energy--extra desire, or something--to find the truth. Maybe to prove to himself, to others, that it wasn't his fault--holding up little green men as evidence, as if to say, 'see, I didn't mean for this to happen. It's wrong of you to blame me for this.'" 

They looked at each other for a moment, then said in unison, "Grey," and shared a soft laugh. 

"But now, with this..." He hesitated, trying to find the words. "It's as if he's so---he's angry and hurting, and he's turning it all in on himself. His self doubts are poisoning him...and it's slopping over onto us-he can't see how there can be an us, when he can't even believe in himself." 

Scully didn't have to affirm his words. He could feel that he was on the right track. 

"If I can get him to let me in..." 

"That's one hell of an 'if', sir," Scully said. Again, their conversation was interrupted by a sound from the other room. Scully gave Skinner a measured look. "I gave him Tuinal," she said, not sure if that would mean anything to him. "It's prescription." When he continued to just stare at her, she jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom. "Why don't you make sure he's comfortable."? 

Skinner didn't need to be asked twice. 

He hesitated at the doorway a moment. 'Scully's bedroom,' he thought. 'This is Scully's bedroom'. The thought was enough to bring a warm rush of blood to his cheeks. 

Mulder groaned and Skinner moved through the dark room, part of him wanting to rush, the rest of him knowing if he didn't let his eyes adjust to the darkness, he'd be as likely to fall on Mulder as see him. So he stepped forward cautiously, and his eyes widened to take advantage of the streetlight coming from outside the window, and the hall light spilling even more brightly from behind him, and by the time he reached the bed, he could make out Mulder's features fairly easily. 

Mulder was twisting in the middle of the bed, enmeshed in a dream that had caused him to kick off the quilt Skinner assumed Scully had put over him. He was dressed in grey boxers, and a familiar torn t-shirt. A quick glance at the bureau revealed jeans and a white shirt, folded neatly. Again, Scully's work, Skinner knew. Mulder was generally fastidious in his grooming habits, from showers to shaving, but no amount of nagging or sexual bribery had convinced him that the floor was not an acceptable shelf for discarded dirty clothes. Skinner had simply accepted the occasional trip over a crumpled shirt as part of life with Mulder, and stopped thinking about it. 

A whimper and another groan, and a frown creased Mulder's brow above his tightly closed eyes. Skinner's throat worked briefly, and he pulled his glasses off, swiped at his eyes almost angrily, and sat down next to his sleeping lover with a sigh. Mulder turned again with a soft cry, and the t-shirt twisted and rode up on him, revealing a slim strip of pale flesh. Skinner shivered, and his hand was already reaching out when Mulder called his name... 

*Walter. Do you remember any of it? 

*No. Shit. I'm sorry I woke you. 

*Don't apologize. Been there, done that, you know the story. I was just surprised, that's all. 

*What do you mean? You've seen my REM bullshit before, Walter-- 

*Hey, none of that! I just mean that you've never said my name before. 

*I can never remember, though. Maybe it was a sex dream. 

*If that's the sort of response a sex dream that has you calling out my name at the end of it provokes, I hope it wasn't anything of the sort! 

*I'm sorry. 

*That's enough, Mulder! Don't take it on. You don't need to feel guilty about this--really. Haven't I turned and tossed you right out of bed once or twice. It was just your turn on the nightmare ride, that's all. 

*I'm--never mind-- 

*Hey, just because I'm telling you not to own this shit doesn't mean I want you to give me the silent treatment either...you're trembling...cold? 

*Cold. Scared. You know, the usual suspects. 

*Here...Better? 

*...mmm, all kinds of better. Maybe this is why I called for you. My subconscious knows just what I need, apparently. 

*Well, with that ringing endorsement, how can I go wrong? 

*Walter? 

*Yes, Fox... 

*Thanks for being here... 

"...here, Fox." Skinner was startled to hear himself speak out loud. At the sound of his voice, Mulder stilled his weak thrashing, and appeared to relax, the frown on his face smoothing out, lips slightly parted. A small sigh slipped from his mouth. 

Skinner let his hand finish the journey it had begun moments before, bringing his palm lightly down on Mulder's stomach, barely touching him, but relishing the warmth of his skin with an emotional jolt more than any fervent caress could have achieved. 

"I'm right here," he whispered again. 

Another sigh, this one deeper and thick with sleep, and Skinner moved his fingertips lightly across his lover's body, already pulling away as he realized that Mulder was back in a more restful sleep. 

Mulder's hand on his own startled him, and he might have pulled away if those long thin fingers hadn't entwined with his own, and then he may as well have been handcuffed to the bed, so unable was he to move. Mulder didn't seem inclined to give up his hand any time soon, and it was the best thing that had happened to him since that phone call a lifetime ago. A first step, he hoped. An opening, a light at the end of the tunnel that wasn't just an oncoming train. Suddenly, a smile bloomed on lips that hadn't done more than frown grimly in far too long. He hoped Scully had a book handy, and had no issues with napping on the couch. He wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon... 

* * *

*Mom? No, mom, I didn't mean to break it, honestly! It was Sam--she was the one, she--Samantha! Samantha! Who's there? Where are you going? I can't move...I want to believe--I--I--I'm sorry, Dad, so sorry--I know I should have--should have--she's gone...I'll tell mom...there was a man--he--I--my partner, Dad...Scully was--did you hurt her?! Did you hurt her? Who did this to her? Scully! Scully--aren't you afraid of...he's dead, Scully--I didn't kill him! You have to believe me! You--you're my one in five billion...no one else...not that! No! A friend of mine is dying--but you're still in charge of them! Who you'd turn to...who would you turn to? Walter? Please don't leave me, Walter, I know I screwed up again, I should have--should have--how can you? I--I--I want to--Walter! Walter? Oh.... I can't believe you came...I should have known you...Walter, I...mmm....* 

* * *

part thirteen  
Reprise/I Say A Little Prayer 

* * *

Mulder stayed four days with Scully. 

He awoke after that horrible night to find Skinner lying fully clothed next to him on Scully's bed, asleep and snoring softly. His fingers were still loosely entwined with Mulder's. 

Scully had been in much the same state on the couch. Mulder smiled lovingly at her and wiped drool away from the corner of her mouth. He pulled an old afghan off of the back of the couch and draped it over her. 

He left a note and went for a run, and when he came back, Scully was waiting, looking tousled and sweet, with coffee and a message from Skinner. 

"He's waiting," she said. 

"I know--did he say that?" 

"Well, not in so many words, but--" 

He threw one of her own skeptical raised eyebrow looks at her, glad he'd saved it for this occasion. "What did he say?" 

"He said-uh-to tell you to pick up the dry-cleaning on your way home." 

Mulder laughed and batted his eyelashes dramatically. "Gosh, Dana, doesn't my Wally-bear say the sweetest things?" 

She laughed at his clowning with a sense of relief at his good humour, then sobered and asked quietly, "When's the dry-cleaning going to be ready?" 

"Thursday," he replied, and the smile vanished. 

* * *

He spent the next four days in a healing daze, focusing inward with even more than his usual quiet determination. Scully gave him plenty of coffee and plenty of space, and made sure he ate occasionally. 

During the day he read, napped, ran and discovered that TV talk shows had really gone downhill. 

Suppers with Scully led to sharing information about cases. Files read sitting side by side on the couch, ideas exchanged over coffee or tea (he was discovering a new appreciation for chamomile), and even some cautious discussion about what had happened to him, what it meant and how those involved might be brought to justice. 

His nights belonged to Walter Skinner. 

Sometimes on line, more often by phone, but with a consistency that was important to both of them. Mulder suspected that Walter was checking up on him at work via Scully, but he had left the first contact between them to him, and he was grateful for it, for the semblance of control it afforded him. 

The first night, Scully had made no comment when he picked up her cordless phone and walked into the bathroom, just given him a smile that felt like a hug of approval, and turned back to her computer and her work. 

It had been late, but Skinner answered on the first ring. 

They talked a lot, and said little. Mulder told Skinner that Scully was a horrible cook. Skinner told Mulder that Agent Harrison had put in for maternity leave. Mulder told Skinner he'd ran eight km that day, and was thinking of going to the pool tomorrow. Skinner told Mulder he'd skipped the gym that morning, and didn't think he'd get there the next day either. Mulder told Skinner he'd pick up the dry-cleaning. Skinner told Mulder that would be fine, whenever he could get to it. And finally, Mulder had gone to sleep on the couch, having relinquished the bed to Scully, still hearing Skinner's final "I love you," in his head, and wishing he had said more than "good night." 

He said more the next night, during another dusk to dawn phone call that was a little more intimate, though careful, with Mulder feeling his way through his own emotions, and Skinner giving him plenty of room to do so. 

By the time he was ready to leave Scully's, the communication between him and Skinner was nearly complete, and he felt good about going. Scully had played no small part in this, and if she didn't know how grateful he was by the heart-felt and nearly teary-eyed hug and kiss he'd given her before leaving that afternoon, she was tipped off by the dozen roses that showed up later in the day, bearing a simple white card with "Thank you. M. And S." on it. 

* * *

Skinner glanced up from the book he was reading when he heard Mulder's key in the lock. He watched Mulder maneouver his duffle bag and a week's worth of clean suits through the doorway, lock the door behind him, and finally, look up. There was a long silence then, which could have been awkward, but which instead was full of love and hope that flew and sparked like breeze-whipped embers between them. At long last, Skinner spoke: 

"Pizza tonight--work was shit, and I didn't feel like cooking." 

"I think we need a new cleaner. I swear that place in Georgetown is ripping us off," Mulder replied. 

Nothing more needed to be said. 

* * *

Mulder stretched out across the long leather couch, draping his legs across Skinner's lap. 

"I think I ate too much", he groaned, rubbing a hand across his trim stomach. 

"Scully didn't feed you?" Skinner was in fact wholly pleased with the hearty appetite that his lover had displayed tonight, but he didn't want to make an issue of it. 

"Oh, don't get me wrong; Scully makes a mean tofu burger, but--" He made a face at the thought, so did Skinner, and they found themselves together in a laugh. Skinner ran a hand over the slim arch of Mulder's foot, and then tickled the sole, just to hear him laugh again. Mulder squirmed, but didn't pull away, and Skinner braceleted his ankle with one big hand. 

"Well, Mulder, what's on our agenda for the evening? I've got some paperwork that I brought home..." 

Mulder's expression made it clear exactly what he thought of that idea. 

Skinner smiled, and next suggested, "We could rent a movie. Or find something on cable." 

"We could." Mulder agreed non-committally. 

"You have a better idea?" Skinner hoped Mulder wouldn't suggest a run, or a visit to the pool. While he did take great pains to keep himself in shape, Skinner knew he'd always be more of a sparring/lifting kind of guy than an endurance/cardio one. He enjoyed taking long walks with Mulder (even when he spent most of the time pointing out alleged UFO hot spots, or the last known whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa), but he didn't think he was up to any races tonight. In fact, he thought a nap sounded like the best idea of the night. 

"We could go to bed." Mulder said flatly. 

Apparently a nap was the second best idea of the night, Skinner's mind informed him, and his body heartily concurred, as a rush of lust rippled up his spine, like a mad xylophonist playing a scale. 

"We could." His tone was cautious, but he found himself stroking higher up on Mulder's leg. "...If you want..." 

"I've been living at Scully's for nearly a week, Walter. Believe me...I want." He found one of his old lecherous grins and gave it to Skinner. Then he pulled his legs away from his lover, sat up with a groan and stood with a stretch. Skinner watched it all without comment, simply content to feel the ember of desire burning steadily in his stomach and all points south, and an equally strong heat banking in the region of his heart. 

"Light, locks, all that good stuff?" Mulder asked. When Skinner nodded, Mulder added, "I'll get the bed warmed up." Another smile, this one smaller, and he turned towards the stairs. 

Skinner took extra time making sure everything was off for the night, wanting Mulder to know that it was his night, and his pace to set. When the last lock was turned, and the VCR programmed to tape the late news, Skinner took the stairs two at a time, unable to keep the foolish grin off of his face. 

He found he had to slow his steps as he neared the bedroom. No lights were on. Usually Mulder left the hall light on if he preceded him to bed, or, if Skinner went first, the television in the bedroom was always spilling out elvish blue light, regardless of whether he was watching or not. Mulder had always preferred some sort of light. 

The darkness disturbed him a little, but didn't extinguish his desire. He felt his way down the short hallway, hooked his hand around the entrance to the bedroom, and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. 

"No lights, p-please." Mulder stuttered over the last word, and they both heard it. Skinner saw Mulder wince from his place under the covers, and then he was flicking the switch again, plunging the room into darkness. 

He made his way to the bed mostly from the image burned into his retinas during that one brief moment of light. He found the bed with his shins and cursed under his breath. Hearing Mulder mutter something vaguely apologetic, he shushed him impatiently, then quickly stripped and dropped his clothes unceremoniously on the floor before slipping into the bed. 

He rolled over on his side immediately, and this time, for the first time, in too long a time, Mulder was there. The younger man came effortlessly into his arms, and Skinner hugged him tight enough to squeeze a groan out of him. He loosened his grip fractionally. "Sorry..it's just--" 

"Shhh..." Mulder silenced him with a kiss, and Skinner welcomed it enthusiastically, enjoying the tactile sensations of his lover without the benefit of sight. Mulder's mouth was warm and firm, yielding and demanding at the same time, in his own unique way that Skinner had been missing for so long. More wondrous still was the press of something hot and hard against his thigh. He realized then how much he took his visual abilities for granted when Mulder not only made him exclaim with delight as his hands and mouth descended on various parts of his body, but made him gasp in surprise as well, as, in one breath, Mulder was carefully removing his glasses and kissing the tip of his nose, and in the next, he felt that warm mouth gently sucking on a nipple. Hands roamed down his side, vanished, then reappeared on his thighs, kneading muscle and stroking skin. Then they were gone again, and Skinner found himself wondering where they would land next. He didn't have to wonder long. 

A strong, two-handed grip on his penis nearly brought him off the bed, and he gave a grunt of surprise. One hand began stroking relentlessly while the other dropped lower to spread his legs, and he gave way to his lover, relishing the swath of heat that Mulder created as he slid down Skinner's body and pressed him onto his back, nestling between his legs with a certain proprietary air that until now Skinner had thought was solely reserved for cats and sunbeams. 

Mulder was making small contented noises deep in his throat, and Skinner found his lover's head by following the sound. He wrapped one big hand in Mulder's hair, and made a quick mental note to find out what kind of conditioner was used at casa del Scully. His fingers slipped through silken strands, and he moved his other hand in to add to the sensations. 

He clutched tightly when he felt warm breath on his now fully erect cock, and got a groan of complaint, albeit a soft one, which he drowned out a moment later with a throaty growl when Mulder took him in his mouth and began sucking in earnest. 

Mulder kept stroking him with one hand as his tongue did new and interesting things to the underside of his cock, while the other hand found a leg to caress, an ass to pinch, and balls to cradle almost reverently. 

All of this was being done without Skinner being able to see anything, and it created a whole new set of sensations, almost frightening in their intensity. He found himself surrendering to the sweet pressure his lover was building in him, unable to respond beyond murmured affirmations, unable to do more physically than stroke his lover's hair again and again. 

Mulder used every technique he'd ever learned, and even invented some new ones, to keep his lover at the peak of ecstasy without tipping him over the edge. As Skinner's movements became more erratic, and the sounds he made doubled in volume, so Mulder redoubled his own efforts, feeling his own unrelieved needs being swept away in a rush that was more love than lust. He felt he had been afforded a great gift, the gift of this man in his life, and now, more than ever, he wanted to express all the gratitude that was churning inside him. 

Skinner's cries took on a plaintive note, as he begged for release, pleading and demanding of both God and lover, and Mulder took this as a cue to take as much of Skinner into his mouth as he could, easing up on the pressure of his hand while intensifying the suction of his lips as he wrapped them tightly round the large erection. When Skinner's hips bucked under him, he refused to be thrown, wrapping his arms around the man's hips and following his movements, never once losing contact between his mouth and Skinner's cock. 

One last hard spasm, and Skinner groaned out "Oh, God, yesssss..." and Mulder couldn't do anything more than swallow convulsively over and over, tasting sweet, salt and Skinner and loving it, loving him... And when it was over, he kept up a gentle friction with his mouth, trying to coax more out of Skinner, until the large body under him was shivering from the stimulation, and with another groaning sound, Skinner tugged him away. Mulder knew Skinner couldn't see him grinning, so complete was the darkness, but he couldn't stop smiling. 

Skinner pulled and Mulder squirmed and in the end they wound up face-to-face, sharing gentle kisses. Skinner could taste himself in Mulder and it was sweeter than honey, more potent than whiskey. He found himself in that hazy, romantic universe that existed only to serve as a safe house for people post orgasm, and was not unhappy to be there. He let his eyes slip closed, still awake, but just barely, and managed to keep one hand on Mulder even when the younger man slipped off of him to lie quietly beside him. He stroked Mulder's chest lightly, and let his thoughts drift... 

*I said I love you...I want to make love to you... 

*Hey, if you wanna fuck, Walter, I'm amenable. 

*That's not what I said, Mulder, and you know it. 

*You want me...this body... 

*Tease! You know I do. Mulder--look at me. 

*We could be doing a whole lot more than looking, Walter... 

*We will be, Mulder. Don't think for a moment that we won't 

*Ohhhh...hey! 

*But not until you hear me. And I mean really hear me, Mulder; hear what I'm telling you. 

*I hear you loud and clear, Walt. Come on; lie down here, and--OOF! Hey, I meant there, not-not on top--hey, let go! This is really killing the mood here, y'know--mmmphh! Oh, well, uh--that could really go a long way to restoring said mood, if you know what I mean. 

*Mulder? Shut up. That's better. Shhh...now tell me what you hear. 

*What? I don't-- 

*Listen. Do you want to know what I hear? 

*.....? 

*I hear you, Mulder. I hear your breathing, and it means something to me. I hear your heart, and I know why it beats. I hear your thoughts-- 

*Who are you, The Stupendous Yappi? 

*And when you talk like that, I hear your voice, but I hear what you don't say, too. 

*Is that right? 

*Mulder, I think you've been fucked enough for one lifetime, don't you? I think it's time that you realized that you deserve more. 

*I--that's ridiculous--I mean--oh! 

*I'm going to do whatever it takes to convince you. Let's start with this... 

*Oh! Oh. Oh... 

Skinner heard the small sound, felt his lover's body moving slightly under his hand, and came more fully awake. 

"Mulder?" 

The sounds stopped. The movements ceased. Skinner reached down, and discovered Mulder's hand wrapped around his own hard cock. 

"Hey," he said, dismayed. "I'm right here with you, Mulder." I love this man, he thought as he played a version of Thumb War with his lover, trying to get his own hand under Mulder's. I love him, and I think I always have, and I know I always will. And he needs to be made to understand that. He waited, and when no reply was forthcoming from Mulder, aside from his own struggle to keep Skinner's hand off of him, he reached for the lamp next to the bed. 

"Hey!" Mulder brought one hand up to shield his eyes from the sudden light while he tugged at the bedclothes with the other. 

"Hey," Skinner said back, rising from his side of the bed. "My turn now." He came around to Mulder's side, ignored the man's attempts to burrow down to China through the Sealy Posturpedic under him, and, a second later, his arms were full of gangly, struggling duvet-wrapped Mulder. 

"Hey!" Mulder exclaimed again in a voice that wanted to be an outraged shout, but could only be a dusty yelp. 

Skinner carried the flailing young man over to the bathroom; stopped in front of the door, where a full-length mirror hung. When he stopped, Mulder struggled more, sure that Skinner was going to drop him on his ass. But instead he was lowered gently to his feet. Skinner made sure he was standing steady, and then tugged gently at the thick down comforter. Mulder responded by clutching the duvet tight around himself like armor. Skinner pulled harder. 

"Walter. Please. Don't do this." Mulder cringed at the whining tone of voice, but seemed unable to prevent it. 

"It's going to be all right, Fox," Walter said. "I promise." One last tremendous yank, and the cover fell to the floor, where Skinner quickly kicked it aside. 

Mulder stared at his reflection in the mirror, and loathed the ugliness he saw there--he was scarred, marked for life, damaged as much by himself as by others, and not worthy of loving, of being loved-- 

His mouth drew down in a trembling bow of pain, and he turned away from the sight, ducked his head, and was able to bury his face in Walter's strong chest as hot tears sprang up in his eyes. 

Skinner's arms came around him, held him tight for a long moment, and then he felt himself being turned implacably towards the mirror again. Hands gripped him in a manner at once both soothing and relentless, and Skinner leaned in close and whispered, "What do you see, Fox?" 

The only answer at first was more tears, and a tension humming through his muscles like electricity through a wire, muscles desperate to turn his vision and his mind from the image in the mirror. Then, with a mental steeling of his defenses that was almost physically palpable, Mulder looked at Skinner through the mirror, his hazel eyes wide and miserable. 

Skinner held his gaze for a spell, and then brought his lips to Mulder's ear. "Do you want to know what I see?" he whispered. 

Mulder shivered as warm breath puffed gently into his ear, and shivered again when Skinner nuzzled the skin behind his ear, and brought his hands down from where they were holding him firmly by the shoulders to brush down his side. When he brought one hand back up to a shoulder, he caught Mulder's eyes in the mirror again, and held them. 

"Fox, neither one of us came into this relationship without scars." When he spoke, he let his fingertips trace over the old puckered bullet scar high on Mulder's shoulder. "Some that we can see--" He ran his other hand down Mulder's flank, producing a stifled groan, and rested it on the younger man's thigh, above another scar, this one a little older, a little less noticeable, but visible just the same. 

Mulder leaned back cautiously, unable to turn and look at the twisted white scars that he knew criss-crossed his lover's midsection, but feeling like some type of response was required, if only to let Skinner know he understood what he was saying. As he pressed back, he felt a stirring in Skinner's groin, and it made him nervous, though not unhappy. 

"And some that we can't." Skinner finished the sentence with a kiss to Mulder's temple. His eyes kept holding Mulder's through their reflection, and Mulder saw them darken momentarily. "And we both knew that going in. We understand each other. Or, at least, I thought we did." At last, Skinner broke off the gaze, and leaned in to rest his head on Mulder's shoulder and direct his sight downwards. Against his will, but unable to stop himself, Mulder followed his lover's gaze. 

His cock was still hard, jutting proudly out from his body, and that only seemed to make the fresh pink scars on it stand out even more. Mulder swallowed visibly, found his hands wanting to cover himself, and willed them to stay at their sides. A soft touch from his lover's hand made him groan, and more tears slipped silently from him. 

"Listen to me, Fox." Skinner's whisper held all the force of a shouted command. "Your body is desirable to me. Always has been. But I don't ever want what's 'here'--" he fondled Mulder lightly again, then continued, "If I can't have what's 'here'." And he pressed another kiss on his lover, this one to the top of his head. "Now, can you please tell me why this is hurting you so bad. I know it's not physical, and I think I've explained my position as best I can. But I can't stand seeing you like this, poisoning yourself with doubts. If you own it, maybe you can defeat it. Please, Fox..." 

The final plea unglued him. The raw need that cracked Skinner's voice nearly caused his knees to unhinge. He caught Skinner's eye, opened his mouth, closed it again, shuddered violently and said, "I did this." 

Silence as Skinner gave him time to clarify. 

"I didn't trust you when I should have, and this--" He glanced down quickly, glanced away just as fast, and struggled to find the words. "This--these scars--I don't see what was done, I only see what was done to you. If I hadn't--I mean, if I had just accepted what you were asking--offering---if I hadn't been out there, what happened might have never been. And I wouldn't have to look at myself every day and be reminded that I--I failed you Walter. And I'm so sorry--" 

"Oh, hell--Fox, no!" Skinner turned him away from the mirror, pulled him close. "I never thought that! Do you think I went into this without doubts myself?" He saw Mulder's puzzled frown and continued quickly, "I couldn't have asked you without a lot of serious thinking on the matter, and I would never have expected anything less from you." He offered a small hopeful grin. "I'm not some UFO that might disappear if you don't get to the site before the ink on the 302 dries." 

Mulder sighed, but Skinner saw a dimple appear briefly in one cheek. 

"I wanted an answer, Fox, but I had no illusions that I'd get it on the spot. I wanted you to think about it. Hell, if anyone should feel guilty--" 

"Don't borrow guilt, Walter," Mulder snapped. 

"Physician heal thyself," Skinner shot back. 

"Bastard." But the dimple came back as he said it. 

"Idiot." A kiss softened the word. 

Mulder brought his arms up around Skinner's neck, laced his hands behind the man's head. Smiled briefly, then turned his head away as he spoke again. 

"I don't know that it's enough, Walter," he whispered. He felt a tightening in his lover's neck and knew without looking that Skinner's jaw was clenched. "I mean, I--Jesus, why is this so hard? I-thank you for understanding. I don't mean to sound cold or impersonal--this means so much--I can't even say. But I don't think tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up, have a glass of OJ and say 'hey Walt, let's do it on the kitchen table!' Do you know what I mean?" 

"I think so, Fox. And that's not what I'm asking for. Do you understand that?" 

"But what I'm clumsily trying to say is that--well--now I feel like at least that day could come. That it's at least possible." 

"Well, you were the one who taught me to believe in extreme possibilities." Skinner drew back, took Mulder's face in his hands. "And when I'm with you, Fox, I feel like anything is possible." 

"Oh, brother!" He smiled as the last of his tears dried on his cheeks. "What trashy romance novel did you find that in?" 

Skinner laughed softly. "It just came to me. Maybe I should be writing trashy romance novels." He kissed Mulder softly, felt that warm mouth responding, and pulled away again. He bent down and retrieved the duvet. "What's say we try to get some sleep? I don't know about you, but I feel like I've done pretty much enough soul searching for one night." 

"On that, I have to agree with you." Mulder let himself be led back to the bed, groused a little, but not unkindly, when Skinner made a big fussy show of tucking him under the covers, and breathed a sigh of relief when Skinner turned off the light. Another sigh gusted out of him, this one less relieved than content, as he felt two big arms pull him in for a hug. 

"Thank you, Walter. I love you." 

"I am always going to love you, Fox." He kissed his lover's eyes closed, and held him close, not letting himself sleep until he heard the deepening of Mulder's breathing, and felt tense muscles under his hands growing lax. His last thoughts before he succumbed to fatigue were of orange juice and kitchen tables, and he wondered if Mulder was thinking the same. 

* * *

*Whatever I did to deserve this, whatever made him want me, love me, make me feel like this...whatever it was, however it happened, I don't care, I just -well, I suppose if I was Scully I'd thank God. Of course, if I was Scully, I wouldn't be here at all--I'd be curling up with a mug of tea and a good book. Hmmm, tea--I wonder if Walter drinks chamomile...What was I thinking? Oh, thanking God. In AA they thank a higher power--of course, in AA they smoke cigarettes and drink coffee--switching addictions, I suppose--I wonder if love could be considered an addiction? I'll have to look that up...ah, hell, it was overanalyzing that got me into this in the first place. Maybe he's right, and I just need some sleep. I can't believe he's--oh wait, I'm Fox "I want to believe" Mulder...Fox Skinner _heh_ Jesus, I must be tired. Drained anyway...well, Scully's God...thank you...and if I don't feel like orange juice tomorrow, maybe I can at least manage to tell him yes...* 

* * *

part fourteen  
My Best Friend's Wedding (the end) 

* * *

"Thank God that's over!" Mulder exclaimed, falling on the bed with a dramatic sigh. 

Skinner moved to the dresser, began methodically emptying his pockets. 

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Change, keys one of Mulder's cufflinks from the right one; handkerchief, Zippo and a condom from the left. 

"Have I ever told you what a great ass you have?" Mulder replied. 

"I think you did once." Skinner caught his lover's eye in the mirror, grinned impishly, "but I still didn't sign off on that 302." 

Mulder stuck his tongue out at him. 

"Was it really that awful, Fox?" Skinner's eyes darkened from chocolate to coal, and Mulder gave him a reassuring smile. 

"Well, you know, not 'awful' per se; I mean, Scully and the Gunmen, Kim and her husband--what was his name again? Anyway, they're all good people, but maybe there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing.' He wasn't explaining himself very well, and he knew it, but Skinner seemed to understand. 

"Nah." The older man turned and moved towards the bed, loosening the bow tie on his black tuxedo--a traditionally cut suit saved from total severity by a puff of teal in the breast pocket. "I mean, you're a good thing, and I can't get too much of you." 

"Christ, Walt, you really should be writing trashy romance novels." But he looked pleased even as he complained. "Like tonight, for example," he added. "How over-the-top was that?" 

He was referring to supper at La Bodega, where, in front of a few close friends, he, Fox Mulder, had finally said yes to the offer that Walter Skinner had made all those months ago, and let Skinner slip the gold ring onto his finger, and then done the same for him. No church for either man, both of them having left conventional religion early, or in Mulder's case, studied but never bought into it. Although tonight, Mulder could have sworn he could feel something like spirituality in the room, a higher power giving a nod to the two men as they exchanged a few words that told those gathered there all that was in their hearts. 

Skinner's pledge had been eloquent but not effusive, loving but not cheaply sentimental. In fact, he'd chosen a song lyric, from an old seventies ballad that Mulder had confessed to loving one night over one too many beers. Mulder had made him swear never to mention this romantic quirk to anyone, and Skinner had respected his request, but when he had sat down to try and decide how best to tell Mulder how he felt, and what this commitment meant to him, the song came back to him. And it seemed perfect somehow. 

"When the moon disappears forever, and the sun shines electric blue. When the mountains and trees tumble into the seas to rest there for eternity; no matter what you do, I will still love you." 

Scully had handed Mulder a tissue for his suddenly wet eyes without comment. 

Mulder had accepted the ring, placed his matching one on Skinner's finger, and intoned solemnly, but with just a hint of mischief in his eyes. 

"Walter Sergei Skinner, I promise never to let mutants eat your liver, covert government agencies put you in five point restraints, or aliens abduct you and drill holes in your teeth." 

That had pretty much said it all, as far as Skinner was concerned, and while the others had smothered their chuckles with their napkins, Skinner had wiped his eyes, and then kissed his lover gently on the mouth. 

"No worse than you, Mulder," Skinner said now, "I know I wasn't the only one misting up when you mentioned the Riticulans." 

"Smart ass," Mulder threw his own tie at him. Skinner batted it away easily, and then flopped down on the bed next to Mulder with a groan. 

"I'm getting too old for this," he complained. 

"What 'this', Walter?" Mulder pushed himself up on one arm, used his free hand to pull off Skinner's glasses. "Do you mean 'this' as in lying here in bed with your crazy albeit brilliant special agent and lover, or do you mean 'this' as in 'making an honest woman of Mulder with a public display of commitment in an Italian restaurant'?" 

"Yeah, that other one." Skinner snuggled in closer to Mulder, began playing with the buttons on his shirt. Mulder slapped his hands away, slid off the bed. 

"I'm hungry," he declared, not failing to notice how the light flashed off the ring on his left hand. 

Skinner rolled back over onto his back. 

"Hey, not my fault you didn't eat your penne." 

"I wasn't hungry then." 

"Oh, I see. So what you're saying is that my tiramisu just vanished off the plate all by itself. Huh. Must be an X-File." Skinner tried to look serious, failed spectacularly. 

"I am not going to even dignify that remark with a response," came the arch reply. At the door, however, Mulder turned and grinned saucily, "Although it was one damned tasty X-File." 

Skinner's laughter followed him down the stairs. 

When he came back to the room carrying a pint of cherry almond ice cream and two spoons, Skinner had stripped down to boxers and socks, and was fussing with the television remote. He glanced over at Mulder, smiled. 

"Mmm, my favorite. How did you know?" 

"It's one of the perks of commitment with me, Walter. I remember these things." He handed the ice cream to Skinner, and wandered off into the bathroom, still talking. "And if my memory serves me correctly, and I see no reason why it wouldn't..." 

Skinner briefly gloried in the warm sound of Mulder on a rant. 

"...And in the end, I think I wound up wearing more of that Ben and Jerry's than I ate." He came out of the other room dressed in plaid pajama pants, hopped up on the bed next to his lover and relieved him of the ice cream. 

"Well, my memory might not be what yours is, but I don't recall any complaints at the time." 

"My mother told me never to talk with my mouth full." He grinned and handed Skinner a spoon. 

*Walter, what are you doing? 

*Hey, I ate all my vegetables tonight like a good boy, now I'm entitled to dessert. 

*I'm not arguing, but-- 

*Shh... 

*Walter, I'm looking here, and I'm seeing cherries, almonds, cream, sugar, polysorbate 80, and even a little Yellow Dye #7, but I'm not seeing Mulder anywhere on this list of ingredients. 

*Sure you do. See-here, where it says 'eat up with a spoon' 

*It does NOT say that--where--? HEY! 

*See? I told you. 

*Shit Walter, that's cold! 

*So I see. Guess that's why they call it ICE cream. 

*Ha ha, very funny, big guy 

*Hey, is that a cherry? 

*Okay, seriously, Walter--OH! Ohh...ohhhh... 

*That's the sweet, sweet stuff. 

*You know--oh--this is going to--ahh, oh--going to make the--ooh--the sheets sticky! 

*I certainly hope so! 

*mmm... 

"Mmm, this is good." Mulder held the carton, and he and Skinner took turns dipping their spoons into it, occasionally feeding one another as much as themselves. 

"It was good last time, too," Skinner set his spoon aside, gave Mulder a meaningful glance, which Mulder managed to deliberately ignore for almost a full minute. Then he let Skinner take the ice cream from him, and came easily into his arms when he held them out. They cuddled close for a bit, ignoring the sounds of the television, losing themselves in each other's eyes. Then Skinner darted in still closer and licked a drip of ice cream off of Mulder's chin, and Mulder laughed at him. Without warning, their mouths came together ferociously, and they went from simply enjoying one another to attempting to devour one another, with no lag time whatsoever. Long minutes were spent nipping, licking, biting at one another, a spectacular duel of tongues, teeth and lips that finally ended with no clear winner, but definitely no losers. 

Skinner reluctantly let Mulder go, saying, "I'll get the lights." 

Mulder's response was an inarticulate groan. 

Skinner moved quickly from the bed to the door, pausing only long enough to scoop up the television remote. He shut off the TV at the same time as he was slapping at the light switch, and the room was plunged into complete darkness. Then he turned and made his way back to the bed, quicker now for having done this on many occasions, not having to worry anymore about not finding his way. 

A spark of sound, and a flare of light, and Skinner stopped dead in his tracks. 

Mulder had pulled two tiny votive candles out of the bedside table, set them on the flat piece of amber coloured glass he normally kept spare change and other odds and ends on, and was lighting them with a wooden match. 

They weren't FBI issue flashlights by any stretch, but it was the first time Mulder had invited any light at all during their lovemaking since--since--Skinner was stunned by the act. 

Mulder blew out the match and turned on the bed to face Skinner, who was still standing and staring. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows over Mulder's face, caught the dampness in his eyes and made them sparkle, and he patted the mattress with a smile. 

"Come on in, Walter, the water's fine." 

Skinner swiped at his eyes and crawled back onto the bed. In moments they were entwined in the middle of the bed, arms and legs curling around one another, hands stroking and stripping, mouths tasting and teasing. 

Skinner pulled his mouth off of Mulder's with a gasp. He pushed his lover's damp bangs off of his forehead, kissed him gently there, and then locked eyes with him. 

"I love you, Fox,' he whispered. 

"'Til the moon disappears forever, right?" His voice held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark and wide, and Skinner could feel him trembling in his grip. 

"Even if aliens drilled holes in my teeth." He tried to lighten the moment, not because he thought what he was feeling was light, not by any means, but he wanted to ease this time for Mulder. 

The candlelight jumped and vacillated and Mulder brought his hand up to Skinner's chest. He looked at the ring on his finger as he splayed his fingers out over his lover's heart, took a moment to collect himself, and then wrapped his arms around Skinner and fell back dramatically, pulling the older man down on top of him. 

"I won't even bother trying to play blushing virgin tonight, Walter, and we're not honeymooning in Hawaii, but--" He pressed his mouth to Skinner's ear and his hand to Skinner's crotch, teased both for just a moment, then whispered. "Be gentle with me, big guy." 

"Gentle, rough, or anything in between, Mulder. Whatever you want." 

"I love you, Walter." 

The candles burned, wavered, undulated with golden light. Shadows shifted and crawled over the walls, following the lovers, as their actions became more fluid, more frantic, more fevered. And in the end it was right, and good, and just illuminated enough. 

* * *

*I am not going to ruin this. I can't. In fact, I don't think he'll let me. I don't know what he sees, and I don't know how he sees it, but he loves me, and I am not going to wait for the other shoe on this one. Somehow this isn't about the size of my nose, or my colour blindness, or my penchance for pissing off all the wrong people. It's not about my job, or my clothes or my taste in music. It's not about the scars...the-the things that he can see, the things I think he can't. All of that--it's only about how he sees me, how he loves me, and how I love him. I am not going to question something, for once in my life. ..Oh, the candles...I should blow them out before I fade away here...he's sleeping already...there, that's better. Well, not better, darker, maybe...but, hey, it was a start...Cherry almond ice cream and candles--I'll have to remember that. I'm so going to be sitting on a hip tomorrow. Thank God Scully isn't coming over until...oh, I should remember to call her and...feels so good to be just lying here with him...what was I thinking? Something about Scully and...ohh... I love you Walter, for what it's worth, and not only that, but I accept your love for me. Wow, I must be tired, where the hell did that come from? Okay, come on, Mulder, let's try and shut down the brain for a while, before you think up something crappy. Think about how it feels to be lying here. Think about how he felt inside you, how he feels now, with his arms warm around your shoulders. Think about the sound of his heart beating there in his warm wide chest. If I turn my head I can hear it...steady, unwavering, for me...* 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Goddess Michele 


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